


graveyard dreams

by aquilaprisca



Category: GOT7
Genre: College!AU, M/M, also loads of philosophical busllhit, descriptions of panic attacks/mentions of ptsd, nothing will make sense till the end im so sorry, supernatural!AU, topics on death, you will be disappointed if youre just here for a love story screams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-07-29 20:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 153,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7698133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquilaprisca/pseuds/aquilaprisca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark Tuan has made every effort to live life the way he intends to; travelling the world, teaching others, questioning reality, all the whilst hiding his own little secrets. However in the middle of his year long teaching contract at a university in South Korea things begin to quickly crumble.<br/>Park Jinyoung, a post graduate student on the threat of expulsion drags Mark down into a world of hysteria. He claims he can remember others of a time long gone, memories of past lives and believes Mark is the only person he can confide in.<br/>Mark is more than reluctant, but what he learns soon enough is that the chest of secrets he's kept buried for so long is about to explode, and soon the past will catch up to the two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The devil's on your shoulder  
> The strangers in your head  
> As if you don't remember  
> As if you can forget  
> It's only been a moment  
> It's only been a lifetime  
> But tonight you're a stranger
> 
> \- Silhouette by Aquilo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is mostly unbeta'd, lord help me
> 
> for those who are just reading this, or rereading this. id like to rec the song silhouette by aquilo. it is one of my favourites and the closest companion to this fic.

He held his memories like broken glass and a handful of sand. Memories that shouldn’t exist, not now anyway, memories of another that doesn’t belong to him. Pain of a world so far lost and so vibrant to the back of his eye lids.

The warmth and softness, the sun scorching his tanned skin, the silk delicately wrapped around his head. The scarf around his neck, thick and suffocating, his paleness complementing the fluttering snow.

Have you seen it? Night skies filled with lights, thousands and thousands of burning lights setting the darkness alight. It’s nothing in comparison to tall metal buildings with foreboding heights that pillar the sky and replace the stars with empty flickers.

The taste of heat and thirst, the hood of his mouth crumbling like the peeling skin from his lips. The feverish feel of the earth beneath, the deserts reaching on for miles in an endless sea of gold, so much gold. Gold that smells of dry and tastes of bland.

He remembers it all, like a probing nightmare or like a wistful dream- like memories so incredibly vivid, he’d be so sure he had tasted the desert air with his own tongue and felt the high sun coat his skin, but they weren’t his, and they were. There was him in the desert and him on the port, there was him drowning in silks, and him suffocating in the subway.

He is himself, and he is someone else. He was there, and he was not. He is here, and he is not. And if a person could be so sure of the physicality of their reality, to know this was home, that this was the place, this was the time they were meant to be, then he was so sure. He was sure that he was meant to be here, and he was sure he was not always here.

For he remembers the fire eating up the sky, and he remembers the cold of the snow on his cheeks. And if he remembers them both as he had lived twice, thrice, four times, then do they not belong to him?

He’s not sure, we’re not sure, people are rarely sure.

But there was always something he was almost sure of, a person, a girl, a boy, neither. They changed, often, but their eyes were always the same; eyes so deep he could fall into them and float among the clouds pondering questions of the universe, and he wouldn’t feel small, he would never feel small.

And it was always so easy to feel small on this earth.

 


	2. they existed

 

  
South Korea, _2016_

The heat in Seoul is rather similar to that in Los Angeles, or that’s what Mark has been telling himself for the past six months. Ultimately, he knew he was lying. The heat here was maddening on a scale of bad tv dramas to setting yourself on fire, which still has to be more comfortable than the humidity that was trickling into his pores and slow-roasting him from the inside out.

He’d been checking his calendar every day, unfortunately, the end of summer was still 175 days away. Mark did not like the heat, even more so, he did not like exposing skin. So now most of his mornings are spent checking weather apps and avoiding black, and shorts. Which, in theory, is easy, but non black trousers were as foreign to Mark’s closet as was his feet to the Seoul pavements.

So that’s why his new haven has been cafes. All the cafes. Anything with air conditioning, cold drinks and a seat, Mark was there. Mark could be down the street, to the left, down another street, down another street, from the right, and he’d still be there.

Mark’s not at a cafe right now though, as much as he wishes he was with all his might. Instead he’s on the side of the road groaning in pain as if his back had snapped, he’d say he was pretty sure it had except he can move, barely. He rolls onto his side and groans deeply, a painful long groan that rumbles through his chest and makes him painfully aware of all the other places filled with ache.

His vision fades in and out, white blotches clogging the sky that looms over him. It’s summer, and it’s humid, thick air and white clouds stick to the inside of his throat and he can’t breathe. The railing his body had slammed into had knocked the air right out of him, his lungs refused to cooperate and Mark wonders if this is what it feels like to drown in nothing.

The noises trickle in slowly; car honks, an airplane from above, shouts, and the quiet delicate sound of a heavy breath. For a second Mark had forgotten how he’d ended up on the rough pavement, his body locking up on him. Then he remembers that thin form, a baggy old jacket, a brown satchel and short dark hair stepping out into the middle of the road.

Mark’s body had jerked on instinct, his brain hadn’t managed to keep up with his legs and before he knew it the two of them were tumbling down the road and slamming into the sidewalk.

A small face pops up from above Mark then as he rocks back and forth. “Sir, are you okay?” Her voice comes out disoriented, a pitch too deep for someone so petite. The blackness is impending but Mark wills himself to hang on. “Sir, can you see me? How many fingers am I holding up?” She holds up two.

Mark snorts, “Peace.”

She visibly rolls her eyes at him. “We’re going to put you on a stretcher, okay? We’re taking you to the hospital, understand?”

Mark knows he should respond, assure her that he’s alright, but he’s really not. He muffles instead, “Did I get hit by a car?” He see’s other faces from above, they touch him, probe at him, they blur, faces morphing into one another, like life on fast forward but at an extremely slow pace.

“No, you didn’t,” The woman, a pretty woman, she’s wearing a green jacket. “But you saved someone.” She grins and Mark almost let’s his eyes roll back into his head. He was a sucker for a pretty face, even when he was shattered into a million tiny pieces.

“I’m pretty sure...my bones have turned to jelly,” Mark mumbles- he floats then for a brief moment, weightlessness hits him in an oddly non existent way and then he slams into uncomfort. The sound of wheels against gravel is harsh in his ears, and soon he’s bombarded with the sight of the inside of the ambulance, a small and suffocating space.

Mark somehow finds a moment to himself to ponder exactly how he’d managed to get into this situation. He’d never ridden in an ambulance before, never needed to go to hospital, never broke a bone, not in this life anyway, so somehow, somewhere far in the back of his brain he decides to collect this memory as a significantly unique one.

Then the pain comes hurtling back when someone decides to jab a finger into Mark’s side. He tries to be manly, not welp in pain or anything, so instead he lets out a strangled noise that definitely doesn’t sound _girly_ but not very human either.

“He seems to have fractured a rib-oh come in, are you alright?” The woman’s voice is distant, and a little berating to him now.

“Yes, thank you,” A deep, calm voice responds. Mark looks to the side to find the brown satchel, torn and rumpled and sitting on a slim man’s lap.

Mark thought he’d just puff out air when he tried to speak but the name comes out of his mouth quickly, “Park Jinyoung?” There was a tangled sort of sound to his tone.

Jinyoung flickers his eyes to Mark and blinks. “Ah,” He smiles. “Professor.”

 

*

 

There’s a sort of new metallic scent to Choi Youngjae’s apartment building. It tastes of bitter and disinfectant, like the cleaner was doing too much of a good job. Mark’s watching the electronic numbers above the elevator door flicker from one, two, three, until it hits four and the doors open with a swoosh.

He stares out for a moment, the hallway dimly lit, the walls incredibly white and _flat_ as if somehow he’d arrived at a hospital. Mark licks his lips as he begins to walk down the corridor, passing door number 54, door number 56, and pausing at door number 58.

He stares at the number plate while taking a hand out of his chino trousers and brushes it through his hair, parting it to the side. Mark feels his fringe tickle the skin just above his eyebrows and mentally notes he needs to get a haircut. With the same hand he reaches out to the door before him and knocks twice.

Youngjae is at the door in seconds, his floppy black hair looking distressed and the round glasses on his nose lopsided. His eyes squint to the hallway light over Mark’s shoulders for a moment before he offers his friend a small smile.

“You’re here?” He mumbles, his voice thick as he adjusts his glasses.

Mark looks to the inside of his apartment and makes out nothing, it was drowned in a pitch black, nothing but tiny lights flickering in the distance from the view through the windows. “Did I wake you up?”

“I was just having a nap.” Youngjae says as he opens the door further and indicates for Mark to come in with a nod of his shaggy hair. Humidity hits him as he enters, the air significantly more thick inside the apartment then out. It was summer and Mark wasn’t sure why Youngjae would want to have the heater on.

“Why did you ask me to come so late?” He asks as Youngjae makes his way deeper into the apartment, lights going on one by one. Youngjae looks even more dishevelled in the brightness, his white button t-shirt is half tucked into his trousers and rumpled, his bowtie hanging off the back of his collar.

“I had to talk to you before the meeting tomorrow,” Youngjae yawns and enters his kitchen, it’s a small space in the corner of the large open living area. “Tea? Juice?”

“I’m okay,” Mark refuses with an open palm and heads towards the sofas. “This place is oddly clean.” He’s eyeing the discarded blazer on the floor.

“The cleaner came yesterday,” Youngjae says into the open fridge, he grabs a carton of apple juice and then slams the door shut with his foot.

Mark makes himself comfortable as Youngjae grabs himself a cup and pours the drink into it. “So what is it?”

He clears his throat. “You know the staff meeting tomorrow?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

Youngjae smiles thinly. “The professors are going to throw you under the bus.”

Mark’s eyebrows knit together and he sits up straighter. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, it’s not _that_ bad. The professors are going to discuss how to deal with Park Jinyoung, and they decided to make you his babysitter. Well, they’re going to pretend like they’re considering everyone but they’ll choose you in the end.” Youngjae explains as he makes his way to the sofa with the carton and the glass of juice in both of his hands.

“Park Jinyoung?” Mark sighs and lets his head hang back of the sofa. “Why him again?”

“He’s getting worse, Professor Jung is even considering expulsion.” It was made to sound as if it were a grave predicament for Mark. Mark, however, did not care, in fact Jinyoung’s existence had become a rather irritating one.

“What has that got to do with me? Was it not enough I fractured a rib trying to save his ass last month?” Mark huffs and places his cheek into his palm. He gives Youngjae a tired look and Youngjae returns it with his own.

“It’s just an excuse,” Youngjae shrugs and takes the cup to his mouth, downing the cloudy drink in one go. “They’re going to say something like you’re the youngest of us-”

“I’m thirty years old, and he’s twenty four-”

“Like I said, excuses,” Youngjae bends forward to the glass coffee table and pours himself another large cup. “In the end they want to complain about him but they won’t help solve whatever issues he’s going through. Since you’re temporary, they’re going to shove it onto you.”

Mark rolls his eyes and goes to frustratingly unbutton his shirt from the collar. “So what is his issue anyway?”

“Don’t you teach him?”

“Twice a week...he comes to my lectures with bloodshot eyes and his notes filled with things nothing to do with my class, but it’s not like he’s the only one. Isn’t it he just doing drugs or something?” Mark grumbles, letting his eyes wander across the room until they land upon the bookshelf stuffed away into the corner by the television that most likely hasn’t been turned on since it was bought.

“They got him tested already,” Youngjae scoffs. “Came back clean.”

Mark, evidently unpleased, gets up and heads up to the bookshelf. “So? What else is there that they’re considering kicking him out for?”

Youngjae’s silent as Mark let’s his fingers trace the spines of old books and new books. There are multicoloured tags sticking out from several of them, words scribbled on sticky notes. Youngjae takes a heavy breath and Mark hears him chug before he clinks the cup to the table and speaks, “He’s handing back essays in Latin. Answering questions in Arabic. His room mate has also reported him drawing buildings, structures or blueprints and sticking it up on their walls.”

“So he’s losing his mind?” Mark looks over his shoulder, his words dance on his tongue as if it were a joke, but Mark’s face hardly held an ounce of amusement. He only wishes he could find something funny about the matter. Youngjae reads his expression for a moment before downing another glass of juice.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Youngjae slouches back into the sofa, the cushions squeaking from beneath him. Mark gives him a skeptical look before turning back to the books, reading their titles; The Islamic Golden Era...Seamen’s Mission: The First Traveller...The Little Boy and The Fat Man…

“Isn’t he just playing a joke?” Mark contemplates as he tugs on the corner of a file, Youngjae’s heavy sigh makes him push it back in and turn around. “He must be playing some sort of joke, what do they call him anyway? A genius?”

“He’s not a genius.” Youngjae let’s the tip of his finger slide around the rim of the cup, his eyes unblinking as he talks. “I spoke to his parents last week, it turns out he’s always known Arabic.”

Mark shoves his hands into his pockets, “You mean they taught him when he was little?”

“No, as in he grew up in South Korea, with South Korean parents, never having stepped foot in an African country or the Middle East and somehow managed to speak fluent Arabic by the time he was six.” Youngjae, his face still and rigid, lifts his eyes to Mark. Mark swallows hard.

“....xenoglossy?” The word leaves Mark’s lips before he even thinks them.

Youngjae lets out a tired laugh, “Don’t let Professor Jung hear you say that, she almost slit my throat when I did.”

“That’s because it’s a myth Youngjae.” Mark heads back to the sofa and settles down quickly, his eyes not leaving Youngjae. “It’s unproven, impossible.”

“Oh,” Youngjae pours himself another glass of apple juice. “Nothing’s impossible Mark. Just because something hasn’t been proven to be true doesn’t automatically make it false.”

“Fair point, but-”

“Mark, he’s losing his mind,” Youngjae says and chugs on his drink.

“How long has this been going on?” Mark asks, giving his jaw a contemplating stroke, he could feel the early signs of stubble.

“That’s the thing, it’s only been happening recently, the past couple of months. That’s why his parents are getting involved- he’s been fine, I mean he learnt to not speak Arabic around others after a while. But now, look- I’ve known Jinyoung since he was an undergraduate of mine, he’s a good student, never had problems, so it’s odd.” Youngjae contemplates, hovering the cup at his lips. “I’ve never seen someone's mind fray like that.”

Mark didn’t bother hiding the irritated huff that itched it’s way out. “So...what is it they want me to do?”

Youngjae gives him a thankful look, then leans forward to place his cup onto the table. “I discussed it with his therapist. With his permission we had some sessions and came to find that he doesn’t really realise what he does when he does it. That’s why it’s not a joke, he isn’t playing around. Look it’s not much we want you to do...just...watch over him, help him with his concentration, get close and ask him questions like...what is he thinking when he switches languages, what the drawings are...and make sure you keep them noted.”

“Why does it feel like you threw me under the bus?” Mark deadpans but Youngjae quickly gets up from his seat and strolls around his apartment. “You guys remember I’m just a philosophy professor right?”

“You majored in psychology too, didn’t you?” Youngjae says, peering out his window.

“Yes, but you’re the psychology professor, among five others in the university.” Mark rubs at his temples and sits back, eyeing the cup half filled on the coffee table.

“I know but to be honest...Jinyoung asked for you. We were first considering one of the assistants but he insisted for you. Professor Jung overheard us talking once and honestly as long as the issue is solved and it doesn’t involve her, she’d make sure anything will work.” Youngjae’s eyes drift out towards the night view of Seoul, bright lights and lines whizzing down roads glow like stars amongst the darkness.

Mark continues to dig the hole he was internally making in Youngjae’s sofa. “I’m only here for another six months, what if you can't help him before then?”

Youngjae blinks out towards the view and goes to tug at his earlobe, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

 

*

 

Last year Mark had written a thesis on how the mind perceives reality and whether people can live in more than one world. It had got him quite a bit of attention in L.A, but mostly in South Korea and China it had sparked a rather large debate. It’s what brought him to Seoul, several months after he published it he received an offer to lecture at Yonsei University for a year. He accepted instantly.

Evidently, the reality he lived in hit harder than he thought. It didn’t take him long to realise upon his arrival that he was a rather big publicity stunt. There were articles, reports and interviews at first but they died out quickly. Then it was Mark’s duty, amongst the few lecturing classes they gave him, to attract and welcome international students. This was one amongst other jobs they gave him, like speaking for the university at events and open days.

But being asked to _babysit_ a student, a twenty four year old postgraduate with severe mental stress, was beyond his belief. He wanted to feel insulted, angry, but nothing but sighs could escape his constantly frowning lips.

His mood doesn’t lighten up in the least bit when he see’s Jinyoung walk into his lecture late. Forget late, the boy had come into class with only fifteen minutes to go. The lecture hall is large but Mark can see him clearly. He always stood out. Since the very first class they had together, Mark had always noticed Jinyoung. There was something about his detachment and stiffness, like he wasn’t meant to be _here_. He was like a puppet without strings that lost it’s way off the stage.

Mark eyes him for a moment longer, watching him shuffle in the back and grab the closest seat before cowering into his hoody. With a slight shake of his head he turns back to the power point and flicks to the next slide. “Let’s wrap this up with an easy discussion. What can anyone tell me…” A pause. A sigh. “You know what? Let’s finish this up early for today. We’ll continue Friday.” Quiet victories can be heard erupt from the room and Mark pretends to busy himself with tidying up. From the corner of his eye, he see’s Jinyoung’s grey hoody shuffle as if to get up and leave. “Park Jinyoung, come and see me.”

Half the hall is already empty but Mark’s request still garners a few curious eyes. Jinyoung jerks where he is at the back, hidden in the shadows. He even looks like he’s contemplating running but eventually his body shifts towards Mark’s direction. By the time he’s at the podium, the hall has been emptied.

“I take it you heard about our new situation?” Mark starts as he slides in his laptop into his shoulder bag. Jinyoung doesn’t respond. “Well, have you or have you not?”

“You sound annoyed,” Jinyoung says and lifts his head up, brushing his hood off. His eyes were dark and redness bordered them as if he hadn’t slept for days.

Mark takes a deep breath, “I’m not annoyed. But I would like your cooperation.”

“What would you like me to do?”

“How about not turning up late and paying attention to my lectures?” Mark offers with a quirk of his eyebrows. He watches Jinyoung take this in with a grimace.

“I’m trying,” Jinyoung mumbles and looks away to the side out onto the large windows which reveal the garden quarters filled with large brushes, benches, and grey skies. It’d been raining all day today.

“Trying not to be late or trying to concentrate?” Mark asks sarcastically, it earns him a satisfying glare from Jinyoung.

“I’m sorry about being late today, I couldn’t sleep,” Jinyoung mumbles under his breath.

“Welcome to college.”

Jinyoung sighs frustratingly and walks back a bit to lean against a desk. His shoulders deflate a little, and Mark imagines he’s trying to get comfortable but his arms are straight by his sides and his foot is tapping at a fast pace. There’s an aura that seems to protrude from him, a sort of darkness you couldn’t take your eyes off...like the moon at midnight. “You dream often professor?”

Mark almosts laughs. “Everyone dreams Jinyoung but not everyone remembers their dreams, you’d know that if you paid attention in my class.” He shoots and goes to settle his bag on his podium to take a seat too.

Jinyoung rolls his eyes, “Okay...do you remember all your dreams professor?”

“I remember...most of them. What about you? I’d imagine you must have some sort of wild imagination that keeps you so distracted.”

“I do,” Jinyoung says straightforwardly. “I remember everything, every detail. I wish I didn’t.”

“Why? Do you have nightmares?”

“Yes and no, I dream or I remember, I can’t tell anymore.” Jinyoung replies with a hint of sadness.

Mark swims in his thoughts for a moment, his hands rubbing against his jaw. He needed to shave soon. “Is that why you asked for me? Because you’d think I’d understand your dreams? Your sleeping habits? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint but-”

“No, that’s not why I asked for you.” Jinyoung interrupts, a blank sort of expression on his face. “I asked for you because I thought you’d understand me the most.”

“I think I’m still going to disappoint you, I may have studied psychology but that was nearly five years ago now,” Mark explains, getting up off his seat, he goes to reach for his satchel. Jinyoung beats him to it. Mark stares down at the hand that stops him from moving and then back at Jinyoung’s eyes. They were dark, too dark, as if his pupils had fallen into the universe and got lost amongst the vastness. It made Mark feel heavy, a lump twisting, and knotting in his chest.

“I know,” Jinyoung murmurs, his voice soft but electric, like his breath held static. “We both know what would happen if word about me gets out. I am probably the first case of xenoglossy people will see. But I don’t want to be some phenomena professor…” He licks his lips and looks away awkwardly. “I need _help_.”

Mark wanted to ask what made him think he had any answers to his problems. But the matter of fact is Jinyoung didn’t sound like he wanted theoretical answers or scientific explanations, he sounded like he needed someone. And why that person had to be Mark, he wasn’t sure, but a person had asked him for help and Mark could do nothing but offer it.

 

*

 

Finland, _1828_

The sea was in the air. Salt on his tongue and in his nose, and stuck to his throat. He drank it in, the cold winds and the harsh waves like sweet vodka from the bottle. Barrick half smiles, his eyes closed, his short blonde hair ruffling softly just above his eyebrow as the sound of the sea sings into his ears. Whispers of sirens and souls far out speak to him and he can feel them swim in his veins as he sucks them into his lungs.

He can see it now, hear the men working, the sound of hammers against nails, wood banging against each other. A port growing out onto the sea, ships as large as churches, sea men in their blue and white, flags being strung up high. Places. People. Lands just out of the reach of his hands but so close he could almost taste it in the air.

There’s a promise, one he’ll keep, one that binds him to this place if there was anything at all.

 

*

 

 

South Korea, _2016_

The steam from the hot cup of coffee floats wistfully around the rim of the large white cup, Mark watches it dance in the air, slowly, lightly until it disappears and Mark is now looking at Jinyoung. His hair is loose and down, his fringe short as it sticks out from the hood of his jumper, his sleeves are long and cover his knuckles, the edges fray as his teeth tug at the strings.

The sun is bright but Park Jinyoung looks cold.

Mark looks down at his own sleeves, his cream button up shirt is rolled up to the elbows, the bottom tucked into fitting grey trousers and suspenders Mark has yet to figure out how to clip off. He’s sweating, and so is his ice cup of coffee, the ice clinks inside the plastic cup and the edges form droplets of water. There’s a pool beneath Mark’s cup, and a plate beneath Jinyoung’s.

The cafe they’re at has large floor-to-ceiling windows, beyond them is the grey pavement and the steps of hundred different pedestrians. Mark doesn’t find it very interesting, the intersection, the people, the traffic lights, but Jinyoung does. His eyes dance, flickering from one corner to another, from one person to another, Mark can see it; red shoes, red light, black trousers, black car, cream dress, cream shirt.

Jinyoung blinks three times, Mark counts, before he turns to face him, and his eyes are brown. They’re a deep, alarming brown, glitter scattering the border of his pupils. Mark wonders where the darkness went, but he doesn’t prolong on the thought because he’s just realised Jinyoung’s speaking and he isn’t listening.

“Sorry,” Mark brushes his fingers through his hair, it’s styled backwards today. “Could you repeat what you said?”

“Got distracted?”

“Yes.”

Jinyoung half smiles and flicks his long eyelashes upwards, “Don’t worry, I understand.” He says it with taunt, his tongue playfully licking at his teeth. “I was just wondering what we’re supposed to be doing during these...meetings.”

“What did your therapist say? Young- Professor Choi just told me I had to take note of what you say,” Mark shrugs as he goes to grab his iced coffee, it drips from the bottom, coolness forming on his thigh.

“Take note of what I say…? I have an app on my phone that could do that just better,” Jinyoung cocks a fine eyebrow, and it catches Mark’s attention, the fine hairs- Mark slaps the cup back onto the table and takes his wet palm to his face.

He rubs his eyes hard before dragging his hand to his lips. “Well, what shall we talk about first? The languages? The drawings? The dreams-”

“The dreams. Let’s talk about the dreams.” Jinyoung straightens up all of a sudden. He shuffles his untouched coffee to the side and leans forward onto the table.

Mark takes in his eager posture and leans backwards, he crosses his legs and arms at the same time and then gives Jinyoung a reluctant look. “Well, go on. Although I really don’t know what you’re expecting from me.” Mark grumbles and Jinyoung laughs a little. It’s a light nostalgic sound.

“I would have thought you’d be rather interested in me…”Jinyoung says with a quirk of his lip, playfully placing his chin into his palm. “For a philosophy professor of course.”

“What I’m curious about is why you’re so interested in me,” Mark uncrosses his legs and leans forward, feeling a strand of hair fall down from his back comb and tickle at his temple. Jinyoung stares at it for a moment before his eyes flicker back out the large window.

“It’s not that…” Jinyoung says softly. “I read your thesis...on reality. Do you really believe that? That it’s possible that our reality isn’t the only one?” He asks of it seriously, his voice wistful but heavy at the same time and Mark wonders what thoughts are whirling in Jinyoung’s head as he asks this.

A grumble, heavy and full of defeat, leaves Mark’s lips as he stares at Jinyoung’s thoughtful expression. He peers down at the satchel sat idly on the floor and bends for it, inside it he blindly searches for his notebook. It’s leather bound, nothing but a string wrapped around it twice keeping it close together. Mark settles it upon the table, away from the puddle his drink had made and opens it, his pen greeting him from inside the binder.

On an empty page Mark writes Jinyoung’s name and draws a circle around it. “This- oi, pay attention,” Mark taps the table with his pen and Jinyoung’s attention jolts back to Mark, they meet eyes for a brief moment and Mark almost swore he could see the colour in his eyes fade a little. “Look down at the paper, this- this is your mind. Okay?”

Jinyoung stares down at the notebook for a long moment, he has an odd look of detachment as if it wasn’t his name he was looking at, but someone else’s. “Are you concentrating, Park Jinyoung?”

He blinks and suddenly flicks his head up, “Yes, professor.”

“Okay, pay attention. This is your mind, your mind perceives what?”

“Everything?”

“Yes, it perceives your sight, your hearing, your taste, your feelings, your emotions, your pain,” Mark explains as he draws out arrows from the bubble. “And how do we perceive our world? If we call the world we’re in right now the reality, how do we know we’re here?”

Jinyoung’s eyebrows twitch as a flash of confusion passes through his face. “Your senses?” He says uncertainly.

“Yes, we perceive this world with our senses and we base the importance of things in this world based on our emotions. It’s the same thing in dreams, Jinyoung. Do you know you’re dreaming when you’re in a dream?”

“No…”

“Then how do we know we’re not dreaming right now?” Mark doesn’t wait for a response, he’s had this conversation so many times now he knows how people will react before they happen. “We don’t. There’s no way to prove it. And it shouldn’t matter because in the end our reality is based on the emotional importance we hold to it.”

“I’m getting confused…” Jinyoung mumbles, staring down at the notebook filled with scribbles.

“Think about it like this: there’s the ‘real world’, let’s say our world, and then there’s the ‘dream world’. We cannot prove either one’s existence and we perceive both of them through our minds, so how do we say one is more important than the other? Our emotional dependency on them. If the dream world holds things that are more important to you, then why can’t that become your reality?”

“So...you choose your reality?” Jinyoung finalises, he blinks rapidly.

“Yes, ultimately.” Mark nods and drops the pen onto the table. “Although a lot of people argue that you cannot choose the world you live in, but the point is that reality is simply what the mind perceives. If a dream feels real while you’re in it, who has the right to deny you of that reality?”

Jinyoung finally goes for his coffee, taking it to his lips absentmindedly for a moment, he takes a long sip. Mark traces the lines of Jinyoung’s fingers with his eyes as they curl round the handle of the cup, blue veins visible from under his pale skin, the arms of his jumper loose at the wrist.

Mark looks away and finally decides to grab a tissue from his pocket to wipe at the water that has circled his cup of iced coffee. “So, does that answer your question?”

The coffee cup lowers ever so slightly, “Yes and no.”

Mark nods, “Well why don’t you tell me more specifically about your dreams-”

“My dreams,” Jinyoung says abruptly. “If- no, I mean is it possible that I can see someone else’s...reality?”

“What do you mean?”

“Everyday I dream of others, other people, people I don’t know....” Jinyoung swallows hard and places his cup back onto it’s plate. There’s a faint pool of coffee at the bottom of the cup now.

“You could just be projecting, people’s faces, any stranger you’ve met or walked past, they can easily appear in your dreams too.” Mark explains but Jinyoung doesn’t look satisfied.

“No, you don’t understand, I don’t just see them when I sleep,” Jinyoung tugs at his sleeves quickly but Mark doesn't miss his fingers shaking. “It’s during the day too, it’s like...suddenly I’m not me anymore, I’m someone else, somewhere else.”

“Is that what you feel...when you find yourself speaking other languages?”

“I don’t know, I never remember anything as _me_ , it’s only when I’ve come out of my...daze do people tell me what I did.” The table is shaking, and Mark realises it’s Jinyoung’s foot bouncing with anxiety. His eyes are lost now, the specks of glitter that were once there are now drowned out by the blackness that has swallowed him up.

“It’s easy… for people to daze out, have you ever heard of maladaptive day-”

“Professor!” Jinyoung exclaims harshly, his whole body shaking now. Jinyoung looked frantic all of a sudden, his eyes twitching and his knee bumping against the bottom of the table. “They’re memories, they’re not daydreams, they’re memories. They’re memories that don’t belong to me. You must understand this can’t be daydreaming if I can suddenly speak languages I was never taught and draw blueprints of buildings I’ve never seen. I’ve never even gone to a single architectural class for god sake.”

Mark grimaces deeply, a feeling of displacement shrouding over his whole body. “Are you saying you can possess other people? Something like your soul...departs and enters another?”

“No...no…no, it’s not like that...” Jinyoung mutters under his breath and takes his sleeve covered hands to rub at this face. “They’re people, they exist...or they existed.”

“What? Like...ghosts?”

“No...like _memories_. Why is it so hard for you to understand? You know the difference between memories and imagination-”

Mark sighs and places both elbows upon the table, leaning in as close to Jinyoung as possible. “Jinyoung, it’s easy for memories to be altered.”

“But they’re not _my_ memories!” He desperately whispers, his eyes searching in Mark’s, begging for some sort of understanding Mark was refusing. “They’re not mine, professor. They belong to others. Other people in other countries with family, friends, people from another...time.”

Jinyoung looks on the verge of tears and Mark sits there silently.

“So you can connect with other people? Like a psychic link?” Mark keeps pushing.

Jinyoung looks at him with one last desperate look and then crumbles back into his chair. “No, they’re already dead.”

Mark feels something churn in his stomach, his lips twitch downwards.

“Why won’t you say it?” Jinyoung sighs. “Why does it seem like you’re avoiding it?”

“Is this what you wanted? To force someone else to reaffirm what you’ve already decided is happening to you?” Mark quickly snaps back, his knuckles turning white under the pressure of him gripping the bottom of the table.

“No, we both know exactly one reason for any cases of xenoglossy and for some reason it’s the one thing you’re refusing to mention. I asked for your help because I know your thesis on reality wasn’t the only one you wrote-” Jinyoung suddenly goes to press his palm to his forehead, his eyelids twitching. He let’s out a grunt and rubs his face again.

Mark watches his expression. “Does it hurt?”

“Just a slight head ache, it comes and goes.” Jinyoung croaks and leans his forehead into his palm.

“You’re repressing them,” Mark says and then turns towards the windows, and now he knows what Jinyoung was so focused on. Rather what he wasn’t focusing on. Every thought seems to wander away with the passerbys and your mind goes blank because suddenly there’s only the floral dress, and the blue skies, there’s only the yellow light and the silver bike.

Jinyoung’s staring at him, aggressively, waiting for him to keep speaking. Mark licks his lips once and regrets the words before they even slip past his lips. “They’re your past lives, right?” Mark says it with a sort of finality, and a hint of comfort, and Jinyoung instantly deflates.

He nods weekly, “Yes, yes, it’s like I’ve lived before.”

Mark nods, sighing heavily. “And you’ve died.”

Jinyoung looks up at Mark, there’s a hint of brown back in his eyes and Mark feels the knot in chest unwind by a fraction. “Do you believe in it? Past lives?”

“Other’s won’t believe you,” Mark huffs. “My thesis on it got a lot of criticism and backlash, it’s just not something people like to even consider especially because it links to a lot of religious beliefs. It’s...supernatural, almost.”

“But it’s happening to me, Professor.” Jinyoung insists, his fingers now tightly clasped together. “Look, I understand there’s probably not much anyone can do but I just felt like I needed someone I could-”

“Trust...I get it.” Mark nods, his neck stiff with reluctance. “But the thing is I can’t promise you much, if anything I can at least try to make sure no one does anything to you.”

Jinyoung let’s Mark’s words sink in for a moment, he drinks them in along with the sunlight and goes to shift out of his hoody. “Thank you, thank you.” He whispers and tucks his head underneath his hands.

Mark’s then notices the dirt clogged underneath Jinyoung’s fingernails, grey etched deep into his fingerprints. His hands looked rough and were covered in blisters. Mark wills himself to look away and instead puts one reassuring palm to Jinyoung’s bent head.

The sunlight is warm upon him and Mark’s hates the feel of it on his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you guys enjoyed it! i know this may suck for a lot of people, as i am too a fan of one shots. but when i started this fic i knew "shit den, dis is gna be long" and well ive learnt in the past when i force myself to write super long fics in one go im not as satisfied in the end, and it has its problems. so id like to take my time with this and upload regularly. 
> 
> id love to hear what you think, but don't feel obliged. thank you very much :)


	3. wandering planes

Turku, _1827_

Summer’s in Finland are light. 

Even when the night were to blanket the sky and lull the people to sleep, the sun was a constant calming presence. It settles beneath the horizon, burning away the darkness into shades of pink or lilac one day, and bursts of fire orange the next. 

Barrick Nieminen wasn’t one to sleep often, instead his nights were filled with the odd, unreliable sparks of inspiration and the occasional cup of tea. On Summer nights however he’d take a large piece of paper and his slated pencil, and spend the early mornings drawing the view from his porch. His home was settled upon a small hill in what was once Finland’s capital, sketching the lines of the houses below, and the Aura river. 

Barrick was an architect, barely in his own right, he had only graduated as an apprentice last year. However, he had always felt a sway to the arts, to capturing the world in all it’s beauty, but Barrick's passion wasn’t in painting, or drawing - there was always something unsatisfying to him about mimicking life. 

So instead he drew a path towards building, to cultivating, and morphing. If he wouldn’t capture the world, he would create it. 

At the age of twenty, of independence and fiery passion, Barrick believed he could do anything. For if he wanted to build, to act as God’s hand and grow this city from the ground up, he believed with all his heart he could, he _would_.

By all his right, he would create a name for himself. He was going to be a _creator_ , and the future would sing his name in praise. 

But if only Barrick knew that to build, you must first destroy.

*

Seoul, _2016_

Mark didn’t live in a flashy apartment building like Youngjae did. He's too fond of the ground.

Even if the university offered to pay for his accommodation, Mark insisted on somewhere homely, somewhere with a garden for definite. After moving so often growing up, Mark began to cling to the idea of home more so than building one for himself. 

So he lives as a tenant now in a large home built for a family but hollowed out, nothing but furniture and dust filling out the lifeless rooms and corridors. It’s owned by an elderly woman, Lee Insook, who had enough of cleaning out rooms that belonged to no one and cooking meals for one too many. 

It has become his sort of haven here in Seoul. The front garden is a sea of colour, flower vines and brushes overflow from their soil beds and cling to everything they can. Rose bushes grow wild against the bricks of the house, their colours vibrant now in the sun, blotches of pink and red flourishing. They’re accompanied by the disarray army of tulips, pansies, and petunias. 

There’s an aging wooden bench that sits just to the right of the front gate completely drowned in bluebird vines. The blue-lilac flowers hang to the grains of the wood as their vines twist and tighten through the gaps rendering the bench frozen almost, like a painting. 

It’s the scent of the garden however, that is both sweet and suffocating that makes Mark half smile the moment he steps in through the gate. It brings him the aching need to breathe, breathe clear air, but it also washes away the thoughts that plague him for a moment, so sometimes he just stands still at the front door, breathing but not really, until eventually he turns the handle into the house. 

“Is that you Mark?” Insook calls out from the kitchen. There’s the sound of food sizzling and Insook aggressively scraping a spatula against a pan.

“It’s me,” Mark replies, settling his shoulder bag by the entrance and slipping out of his shoes. “Who else would it be? Expecting someone?” 

Insook looks over her shoulder, revealing her permanent scowl encompassed by wrinkles. She sort of reminds Mark of an angry raisin, only Mark doesn’t like raisins, he likes Insook. 

“No, but it’s comforting to know it’s someone I know walking up behind me,” She says and returns back to butchering the slices of beef in the pan before her. 

Mark chuckles a little as he goes to roll up his sleeves, “You’re the type to ask ‘who’s there’ in a horror movie, aren’t you, Ahjumma?” 

Insook makes a little huffing noise and shrugs her shoulders as she does when she doesn’t have a single clue what Mark is talking about. The two then continue to set the table, Insook placing the sides and dishes into small plates, whilst Mark fetches the chopsticks and fills bowls of rice from the cooker.

They settle onto the dining table with comfort and a day’s worth of fatigue, and begin to eat. 

“The dark circles beneath your eyes are atrocious,” Insook starts after neatly swallowing a mouthful of rice and reaching for her cup of water. 

“You noticed?”

Insook coughs and quickly grabs a napkin to pat at her mouth, “That was a good one.”

“ _That_ wasn’t a joke, Ahjumma,” Mark whines and slaps his palm to his forehead. 

“But it was funny.” 

Mark opens his mouth but it seems to falter on him, “I...just had a long week.” 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Insook asks, placing a piece of meat into Mark’s bowl. “Not that I need to ask, you’ll tell me anyway if you want.”

“Why do you sound so tired of me today, Ahjumma?”

“You’re a tiring person Mark,” She says bluntly and goes to pick at some bean sprouts. “But I am a tired person, so it doesn’t really matter.” 

“Are you saying we’re meant for each other? Because I think that’s what you’re saying.” Mark nods, shovelling the spoonful into his mouth. Insook gives him a look and he returns it with a rice-full smile.

Insook simply sighs and continues on with her meal while Mark finds some trouble swallowing down his mouthful. After what felt like years of chewing and a series of odd sounds coming from his stomach, Mark finally settles down with a large chug of his water and a contemplating look at Insook. 

“You don’t have to force yourself here Mark,” Insook speaks first, surprising him. “You’re not naturally so high spirited, it’s okay.” 

Mark blinks rapidly, a little speechless, he tries to conjure up the words to respond but there really wasn’t a response for that.

“Mark, eat.” She demands but Mark’s already lost his appetite. 

“Ahjumma,” Mark starts, his fingers skimming the edge of his cup. “What do you do when someone asks for your help but you don’t want to give it?” 

Insook looks up at Mark for a brief moment then looks down in thought, “You give it to them.” 

“What?”

“You give them your help.”

“But-”

Insook tuts then, a sort of authoritative shadow seems to overtake her and she stares at Mark with a fine glare. “You know what’s harder than helping someone, boy? It’s asking for it.”

Mark licks the inside of his teeth. “What if you shouldn’t help them? What if it’ll do more harm than good?”

“Abandoning someone is possibly the worst harm you could do.” 

Mark twitches then, his chopsticks almost clattering out of his hand but he tightens his grip at the last second. With a heavy sigh, possibly the heaviest sigh he has managed to conjure yet, Mark settles back into his chair and simply nods to himself.

*

“Okay, let’s end this lecture with a simple question,” Mark says from the podium. Today he was placed in a rather large lecture hall, where the seats leaned upwards and the students looked as if they were going to tumble and fall upon him at any moment.

“Professor, every time you say that we know for definite it’s not going to be a simple question,” Kunpimook, an international student from Thailand, sighs from the front and ignites a wave of laughter throughout the hall. 

Mark chuckles along with them, the soft sound quickly lost amongst the sound of the students. He raises his hands and indicates for them to settle down, which eventually they do, the noise quickly trickling down to the last whisper. 

“Okay, okay,” Mark claps and makes his way to the podium to lean against it. “I’m curious as to what you lot think makes up a person? What makes a person individual, their insides? Their outside?” 

“Isn’t it both?” Someone shouts out from the back. 

“Both? Physical appearance can’t count,” A girl from the side shakes her head. “What if you get plastic surgery? Suddenly you’re a different person?”

There’s a chorus of _hmm’s_ then and Mark feels the side of his lip quirk upwards.

“Isn’t it your personality then?” Another girl from the back calls out, Mark recognises the bright blonde hair belonging to Mihyun. 

“So what makes up your personality then?” Mark shoots back, and quickly holds back a burst of laughter as a series of groans erupts. 

“Your experience? Your memories?” Mihyun replies quickly with a look of triumphant. She was one of the brightest in his class, and Mark wasn’t disappointed. He nods at her approvingly.

“I don’t get it…” Someone drawls from the other side of the hall.

Mark claps his hands together and starts a contemplating pace. “Mihyun’s thought process is correct. What makes a person is essentially their experience, and our memories are what hold our experience. What you learn in life, what happens in your life, how it makes you feel essentially shapes the person you become. That’s why people are ever-changing, you’re constantly growing, learning, experiencing.”

“Age is nothing but a number!” Someone jokes and Mark chuckles.

“Exactly! Ignorance is also a part of you, a lack of knowledge and understanding, even a lack of empathy makes you who you are. Which is why sometimes we find the older generation almost childish as we grow closer to them.” Mark explains, his eyes peering around the lecture hall. 

“But isn’t our memory unreliable? Didn’t you say once that we could alter our memories? Believe something that was never reality? Doesn’t that affect who we become too?” Kunpimook asks, his chin settled idly into his hand. 

“Yes and no,” Mark begins. “We don’t remember everything, it’s impossible. Essentially our brain stores away the memories we don’t need anymore to make up for new ones, more important ones. But just because we don’t remember the specific memory doesn’t mean our brains don’t remember the experience we received from them.  
Think about it like this, we all know lying is bad, right?”

There’s a series of nods that goes across the room. “Right, someone must have taught us that lying is bad, it’s a social construct. It wasn’t like we were born to know lying was bad, but rather we learnt growing up and being told by others that lying hurts others, that it is immoral and we shouldn’t do it. Now I don’t know about you guys but I can’t remember who taught me lying was bad, but I still know it is. Now that’s become a part of me, the moral obligation to not lie makes up a tiny fraction of me now.” 

“So what makes a person is their experience, and how our body or brain remembers it?” Mihyun calls out.

“Yes, in the simplest of ways.” 

“So...what happens one day if you get knocked out and lose all your memories?” 

“Oooo...now that is another topic for another day,” Mark looks to his watch then. “Let’s continue this discussion next time okay?” The class erupts in huffs and dissatisfied look as they rise from their seats and start exiting the hall. Mark holds back a quirk of a smile as he packs away his laptop and slings his bag across his shoulder.

As Mark makes a plan to leave, he looks up to find Jinyoung still in his seat. Mark tended to be last one to leave a class, but these days he’s accompanied by Jinyoung, who stays settled in the back of the class, waiting patiently. He almost seems too still sometimes, his eyes frozen and unblinking as if he weren’t here anymore but exploring planes far, far away. 

Mark walks up the steps of the hall slowly, staring at Jinyoung’s still form. His back is straight, and his hands are up on the desk, clasped together. He’s wearing a flannel shirt and jeans today, which is a severe improvement from the rough looking jumper and jogging bottoms he’d been sporting for the last couple of days. It was nice to see some colour on him, even if his face was drained of it. 

He takes the seat just in front of Jinyoung and settles his chin into his palm. Jinyoung’s eyes barely even flicker, like a television on pause, he sits perfectly still, nothing but the low hum of his breathing indicating he was more alive than marble. 

“Jinyoung,” Mark calls out softly, and Jinyoung blinks once before his shoulders give out on him. His eyes turn to look at Mark and then Jinyoung is here.

“Professor,” Jinyoung smiles and leans back into his seat. “Has the lecture ended already?”

“You know, it’s nice you decided to arrive on time and all but it’s kind of pointless if you aren’t really _here_.” 

Jinyoung smiles a little and looks down at his hands, they weren’t grey today. “ _Here_ ,” He echoes to himself, and then he looks up at Mark. “Well, I mean here is pretty boring, can’t help it.” 

“Here is where you’re meant to be, no matter how detached you may feel,” Mark responds, settling back into the desk, he’s looking up at Jinyoung with concentration, noting all the fine details of his features and the slight movements of his face. 

Jinyoung doesn’t really react to that, instead he purses his lips in thought and scratches the back of his neck. 

“What were you thinking about just then?” 

Jinyoung looks up at that and offers Mark a mischievous grin, “I wasn’t thinking Professor, I was _remembering._ ” He says the words in a whisper, as if he were protecting a precious secret.

“Tell me about it,” Mark presses, leaning his head into his palm. “You looked like you were enjoying it.”

“I was,” Jinyoung replies quickly. “Which is odd.” 

“Why is it odd?”

“Because no one I remember being ever seemed to have a happy life.” Jinyoung says, his eyes flickering back down to his hands. “They only seemed to suffer.”

“People don’t have happy lives or sad lives...life is just filled with happy and sad moments, some more than others maybe.”

“More than, I guess,” Jinyoung says softly. Mark watches the twist of his lips as they turn up a little, and the sort of innocent look of a child that seems to encompass his face. “But this one was...warm. I was a child, in Nigeria, I was with some friends playing football. That’s it, really..but it’s odd, you know, that I could understand what others were saying- what I was saying, and how familiar it all felt. Even though I shouldn’t be able to understand the language, or even know what Nigeria looks like, I did, and I didn’t, like I knew but I’ve never really experienced it.”

“Like you felt something burn you but there’s nothing on your skin,” Mark nods absentmindedly.

“Yes…” Jinyoung half smiles, tilting his head slightly. “You always know how to put it into words.” 

Mark takes a deep breath and gets up from his seat, “Well, my mother always did want me to study literature.” 

“Really?” Jinyoung get’s up too, slinging on his torn shoulder bag and following Mark out of the lecture hall. “Do you write?”

“No, but my mother does, she’s an author,” Mark says as he pushes through a pair of double doors and enters into one of many of the universities corridors. The large lecture hall belonged to the main campus, unsurprisingly, everything had to be extravagant here. 

“Oh, what does she write?” 

“Novels mostly, like teen romance stuff,” Mark says as the two of them make their way down the hallway. “It’s kind of popular stuff in the west.” Jinyoung nods, listening, until something catches his eye and he visibly stiffens. 

Mark watches him from the corner of his eye, he’d imagine if he could, Jinyoung would cower into his hoody right about now. Instead, Jinyoung takes a sleeve covered hand and strokes down at his fringe as if it’d suddenly grow longer and hide him away into the shadows. 

“Why do you look so uncomfortable all of a sudden-” Mark peers down the hallway and sees Im Jaebum walking in their direction, he’s got a sort of permanent angry look on his face that reminds Mark of Insook. Mark only recognises him after Youngjae’s awfully detailed briefing session, he is Park Jinyoung’s room mate.

To his surprise, the two walk past each other swiftly, not offering a single piece of eye contact and acknowledgement that they even knew each other. “What was that?” Mark mutters, mildly shocked.

“What was what?” Jinyoung all scowl and pout follows Mark blindly, he’s simply glaring at the floor. 

“Isn’t he your room mate?” 

“Yeah…” 

“Should I not push it?” 

“It’s nothing,” Jinyoung mumbles. “It’s just after my… _episodes_ began, it’s been hard to…well, _people_. He just gets it worse cause he’s my room mate, people keep bothering him about me.” 

Mark looks up in thought and nods slowly, turning a right, he makes his way to the garden quarters. The sun was out today but the air was cool, Mark hums in delight as the two of them make their way past vibrant flower beds and perfectly trimmed bushes and head towards the back exit of the university. 

“Where we going anyway?” Jinyoung asks after finally peeling his eyes from the ground.

“There’s a street vendor across the road,” Mark nods, his hands stuffed into his fitted navy trousers. “I’m craving tteokbokki, you good with that?” 

Jinyoung nods willingly, trudging closely to Mark. “So what’s today’s session about?”

“Whatever you want it to be,” Mark shrugs.

“You’re lack of interest wounds me, Professor,” Jinyoung jokes for a brief moment before his lips turn down. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t believe me?”

“Because you’re over thinking,”

“No, it’s just- most people would be sceptical, I mean before past lives, isn’t there the question of my mentality? How do you know I’m not losing my mind?” Jinyoung asks, his voice is especially soft now as if his words were wounding himself. 

They reach the vendor, entering through the plastic curtains where the smell of spicy gochujang paste fills the air. “Well for one…” Mark raises two fingers and points to the vat of ttoekbokki the old man was mixing slowly, and then turns to Jinyoung. “You’re speaking languages you’ve never learnt and two, I just believe you.”

“You just believe me?” Jinyoung repeats, arching an eyebrow in disbelief. 

The old man passes the two of them a small bowl of tteokbokki each, Mark is quick to pick up a toothpick and dive in. “Just like I believe you, can’t you just believe that I believe you?”

Jinyoung narrows his eyes, “You know sometimes I wonder if you speak that way to confuse people on purpose.” 

Mark laughs with a full mouth and almost chokes. Jinyoung eyes him for a moment before snatching up a bunch of napkins and offering it to him. “Thanks,” Mark mumbles behind his hand. “There is something that confuses me though.”

“Oh, the shock,” Jinyoung deadpans, picking up his own toothpick he pokes at his rice cakes for a moment before stabbing one and bringing it into his mouth.

“No, seriously, as far as my research helps, if someone were to remember their past lives wouldn’t they just act like memories? But from what I’ve seen and heard it seems to take over you, like a possession or something?”

Jinyoung chews thoughtfully for a moment before speaking, “I don’t really know how to explain it. It’s not like I forget who I am or where I am but like...when the memories come, they’re so…” His eyebrows knit together and he takes a deep breath. “Powerful, like they’re all I can think about in that moment and it’s like I am suddenly them. I just seem to push _me_ aside. Does that even make any sense?” 

“Kind of…” Mark goes out to reach for a long stick ribboned with fish cake and bites at it vigorously. “So how many lives do you remember?”

“For definite, eleven,” Mark stills at that. “But a lot of them come to me in flashes, dreams, they’re mostly fragmented so I can’t match them together. It’s like I’m starting a puzzle from a corner and there’s no certainty I can find the other pieces.” 

“ _Eleven?_ ” Mark asks in disbelief, he looks to Jinyoung with a face of both shock and utter confusion. 

“What- what’s wrong?” Jinyoung stutters, caught off guard by Mark. 

Mark clears his throat and regains his composure quickly. “Nothing, it’s just surprising. Isn’t it suffocating?”

Jinyoung snorts, hard. “Yes, that’s exactly why this is an issue right now, Professor. You know? Professor Jung up my ass, Professor Choi down my throat, the whole student body betting on whether I’m on drugs or losing my mind. I think you’re the only one that hasn’t run in the complete opposite direction.”

“Oh believe me, I want to,” Mark says by accident, but if Jinyoung was hurt by his words, he doesn’t show it. “But you know, you’ve made my stay in Seoul a little more interesting. It’s good research too.”

Jinyoung laughs at that, “You’re going to sell me out professor?” 

“No, never,” Mark says seriously. “God knows the media here, the mentality here, they’d eat you up and spit you out. It sounds harsh Jinyoung but be careful, they’ll destroy you, in any way physically, mentally possible.” 

Jinyoung stares intently at Mark as he says this, and Mark watches a small smile play on his lips. “I know...you’re the only person I’ve told, and probably the only person that would believe me anyway.”

“You trust me too much,” Mark says with a lick of his lips. 

“Maybe,” Jinyoung looks to the side at Mark and grins. Mark realises then that they’re almost the same height, Mark just slightly taller but that may be the heels on his leather shoes. He then looks away and takes a slight step to the side before digging into the last rice cake in his bowl.

*

There is something funny about Yonsei University, the immense pride they have for their Psychology courses, their expensive facilities and outstanding Professors, and yet the absolute lack of empathy they have for anyone with a mental issue. Mark’s thinking about the hypocrisy of it all as he sits on one of the four large leather sofas placed in the obnoxiously large counsellor's office.

He understands it was also a room for class sessions and group work, but really, Mark couldn’t understand the need for a ceiling so high if the roof were to pop off the sky would just suck him up. 

Youngjae is on the other side of the room, which feels like a good three hundred meters from where Mark is, perched on a window, watching something beyond the glass. The university counsellor, a gruffy old man named Yoo Yeonseok, sits behind his desk wiping at his glasses for the fifth time now in the past half an hour. Mark was counting. 

Mark goes to rub at his temples when he speaks, “I told you guys he doesn’t know.”

Yoonseok sighs from where he is, sliding his glasses back onto his nose. “How is it possible? He doesn’t know? Or he isn’t telling you?”

Mark rolls his eyes, “Yoonseok, you’re sceptical in your old age.” Yoonseok frowns at that. “What he told me was that he doesn’t know how he knows these...languages. He says it’s like as natural as Korean, that’s why he doesn’t realise he’s typing in one language and speaking in another.” 

“Yes, but what is he thinking about when it happens? Is it like he’s taken over by something?” Yoonseok presses, his hands making circular motions in the air. 

“This isn’t a ghost story, councillor.” 

Youngjae turns at that, his face expressionless when he looks towards Mark. Yoonseok huffs in his seat and twirls around once, his hands clasped together at his chest. “We haven’t made much progress then.” 

“I have just started with him, give us some time-”

“Time,” Youngjae interrupts. “Is something Jinyoung doesn’t have.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Professor Jung’s patience is wearing thin, and it isn’t long till the media get some sort of catch that we have a...bomb roaming the campus,” Youngjae gets up from the window and paces closer towards the two of them. 

“Bomb?” Mark echoes. “Really Youngjae?”

“Professor Choi is right,” Yoonseok adds. “You think because these students are adults now that their parents won’t make an issue out of it? They’ll march in here first thing and rip him apart themselves.” 

Mark grimaces at that and then let’s his head hang back onto the sofa.

“Is there nothing else? Anything he told you?” Youngjae asks as he takes a seat on the opposite sofa, he mirrors Mark’s posture and leans back, crossing his leg over the other.

“Nothing,” Mark says flatly. “But he’s having trouble sleeping, do you think we can get something prescribed for him? It might improve his concentration if he actually rests.”

Yoonseok and Youngjae give each other a look before slouching in defeat. Mark doesn’t show it, but he let’s out of a silent breath of relief and relaxes ever so slightly. 

“I guess all we can do is wait for any developments, Mark’s right, it hasn’t been that long,” Yoonseok finalises, shutting his notebook and sliding it into his drawer. “For now, I’ll see about some sleeping pills that’ll help him out.”

Mark nods, he’s about to thank him but then there’s an urgent knock at the door, and the three of them turn their heads to find Mihyun poking her head through the door, an apologetic and hurried look on her face.

“Sorry Professors, but we kind of need your help,” She says, her leg bouncing with anxiety. 

Mark gets up from his seat slowly as Yoonseok eyes her, “What’s going on?”

“It’s Jinyoung, he’s- uh, something’s wrong, I think he’s having an episode again.” She says but Mark doesn’t really hear the end of the sentence because he’s already running out of the room. 

It wasn’t hard to determine where Jinyoung was, the crowd forming at the end of the hallway was loud and noisy. It was the distinctive shout, however, of someone in pain that jolts Mark to run into the tight crowd of students. 

“Move,” He demands, the authority in his voice is what makes them look back and quickly part for him, in turn they also reveal Jinyoung. He looks small where he is, huddled on the floor, his fingers clawing at the hair around his ears. His eyes are looking somewhere, somewhere far from here, they’re a pitch black, almost empty if Mark couldn’t see the fear in them. 

As Mark get’s closer he hears the slight hum of a whimper, and quickly crouches beside Jinyoung. “Jinyoung?” He calls softly but Jinyoung doesn’t hear him, his eyes are distant, his body tight. “Jinyoung.” 

Jinyoung twitches then, almost in response, but he doesn’t make any other indication to acknowledge Mark. 

“What’s going on?” Youngjae huffs, emerging from the crowd of students.

“I don’t know, he was fine earlier,” Mark mumbles then looks over his shoulder at the nauseating amount of people that have gathered. “Get them out of here,” Mark says with a flick of his head. Youngjae gives Jinyoung a wary look over Mark’s shoulder before turning to the crowd of students to attempt in ushering them away. 

Mark turns back to Jinyoung and places two firm hands on either side of his shoulder, and positions himself directly in front of him. “Jinyoung,” He calls out more harshly, and tightens his grip. “Jinyoung..”

Jinyoung shakes violently, his eyes flickering, tears well up as he looks up towards the ceiling, and then he let’s out a high cry. “Jinyoung!” Mark calls out, louder, shaking him. Jinyoung looks down then, he’s looking at Mark- no, he’s looking in Mark’s direction, his eyes quiver now, the darkness in them seems to go on for infinity, and then he opens his mouth and let’s out a hot breath, it’s filled with fear and desperation and it makes Mark feel sick to his stomach. 

“Jinyoung, Jinyoung, can you hear me? It’s Mark, Professor Tuan-” Mark brings his hands up to either side of Jinyoung’s cheeks, his fingers digging into his jaw. “Jinyoung, wake up. It’s not real.” 

Jinyoung violently jolts then, he opens his mouth and tries to speak but he just gasps. “What is it?” Mark whispers.

He makes another noise and swallows, “Ah….” He whimpers and let’s his head roll back up, he’s staring at something, his shoulders shaking. Jinyoung whispers something then, something inaudible, and Mark forces himself to lean in as close as possible. “助けて...” He cries softly. 

Mark leans back and frowns deeply, “What? What was that?”

Jinyoung looks down again, but still, his eyes are lost, he’s looking at something beyond Mark, beyond the students, beyond this place and he’s crying. “助けて...” He sounds like he’s begging, his voice breaks and he suddenly goes to clutch at Mark’s shirt. “助けて!” 

“Is that….is that Japanese? What is he saying?” Mark mumbles, desperately clinging to Jinyoung as he begins to violently shake, his shoulders tighten up and he takes in one last tiny gasp before his eyelids flutter shut, and his body goes limp against Mark.

Mark stares down at Jinyoung, his head against his shoulder and shivers, the hairs on his arms raising. “What did he just say?” Mark turns his head around, the students had lessened but there was still a few watchful eyes. “Does anyone understand what he just said?”

“ _Tasukete_ ,” A soft voice says from beside Mark. He goes to instinctively tighten his grip around Jinyoung and turns to find Mihyun crouching beside the two of them. Her face, round and pretty, holds a deep frown, her blonde hair trickling past her bent knees. She tucks a strand behind her ear and looks solemnly up at Mark. “He’s asking for help.”


	4. shadows

The inside of the infirmary is something right out of an interior design magazine, or a Wes Anderson film. Two sets of three metal framed beds are aligned perfectly against both sides of the room, a railing attached to the ceiling curves round each one of them for a curtain to glide upon.

At the far back of the room are large square windows with the view of the garden quarters sprawling out into the distance. Upon the windowsill are a neat collection of cactus’ in white pots, and one aloe vera plant placed perfectly in the middle. Mark almost feels like he’s having a standoff with it when he reenters through the large double (and _yes_ very white) doors.

“Is the nurse still not here?” Mark asks after finally peeling his eyes off the aloe vera plant.

Jinyoung was placed flat on his back on the first bed to the left of the room, he looks almost dead where he lays, the pale, striped blanket covering him to his chest. Mark tries to focus on the very important fact that Jinyoung is in fact breathing and makes his way to stand beside Youngjae, who watches Jinyoung from the foot of the bed.

“Youngjae?” Mark calls out again, offering him the coffee in a can he’d gone out to buy from the vending machine. Youngjae looks rather uninterested in it however. “Are you blanking out on me too?”

“Huh? What?” Youngjae jumps and looks at Mark, then looks down at the coffee in his hands and almost crumbles to the ground. “Oh thank you god.”

“My name’s Mark.”

Youngjae ignores him and plucks the can out of his hand to quickly open it and chug at it. Mark watches him with distaste, “Wow, it almost looks like you were the one who carried a grown man across the campus.”

“My body doesn’t handle stress very well, that was a very stressing situation,” Youngjae says with a shake of his head and takes the back of his hand to wipe at his lips.

“Yes, I was there.” Mark huffs and goes to settle himself at the end of the bed, just beside Jinyoung’s feet.

“I’m just worried about him…” Youngjae mumbles.

“Yeah...kind of like a scientist and his lab rat,” Mark remarks, very aware of the glare Youngjae was burning into the back of his head. “Anyway, you got any clues to why he passed out?”

“Anything that explains what just happened? No. But technically he just passed out due to too much stress,” Youngjae says, taking another swing of his coffee.

Mark let’s his lips slip slowly into a frown as a numb feeling begins to ebb away at his chest. He is staring at Jinyoung’s face with a harsh kind of concentration; there was barely any sound coming from him, his eyelids didn’t flutter and his chest barely rose a fraction to indicate he was breathing. Mark was pretty sure Jinyoung wasn’t dreaming, or _’remembering’_ , so he had some expectation that he’d at least look peaceful.

Instead Jinyoung just seems frozen, like someone put him on pause, he wasn’t sleeping and he wasn’t remembering. He was just there.

“Has it been reported before? Him speaking Japanese?” Mark asks staring down at Jinyoung’s hands which were laid out above the cover, turned towards his hips. His fingertips were grey, which Mark realises now are a result of rubbing against pencil graphite.

“No, not as far as I’m concerned,” Mark can hear Youngjae pace from behind him. “Why do you think he was asking for help?”

Mark’s scowl deepens. “I don’t know.” He says in both a lie and truth.

Although Mark is aware of the fact Jinyoung somehow has links to his past lives, not one, but several and that they come to him pieces, there’s nothing else, beyond that Jinyoung is still a mystery. A mystery Mark doesn’t want to solve but it’s been presented to him on a platter and he’s been tied to a dining room chair, so he knows he hasn’t got much of a choice now but to follow through with whatever he started.

Or what Youngjae started, he’s somehow pretty sure this is Youngjae’s fault.

“Why are you glaring at me like that?” Youngjae squeaks.

Mark rolls his eyes and looks back towards Jinyoung, and then jumps right out of his skin.

“Jinyoung?” Youngjae is the first to call out. “Are you okay?”

Jinyoung doesn’t move though, he just blinks and Mark thinks he sees tears.

“Youngjae, could you go find the nurse please?” Mark asks softly, placing a hand on Youngjae’s wrist. Youngjae gives Mark and Jinyoung a worried look before nodding and turning to leave the room.

There’s a brief silence after the door clicks shut and then Jinyoung let’s out a heavy haggard breath. His chest seems to cave in from under the covers and Mark wonders if this whole time he didn’t look like he was breathing because he was trying to hold himself up. He takes in several deep breaths, his eyes shut as if to hold back the tears but they slip out anyway.

“I can leave if you like-”

“No-” Jinyoung’s voice comes out rough and broken. “No, it’s fine.” He sighs and wipes at his face vigorously with the heel of his hand.

“Are you alright?” Mark asks, mostly out of politeness, he’s pretty sure Jinyoung feels anything but alright right now.

Jinyoung moves to sit up, the sounds of the bed creaking below him fills up the empty infirmary. Mark watches him closely as he takes his hand and rubs at his neck. His flannel shirt hangs from the head of the bed and his arms are exposed in the t-shirt he wore underneath.

“I’m fine, I think,” Jinyoung finally replies, brushing a hand through the little hair he has on his head, his eyes finally look up to meet with Mark’s. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

Jinyoung’s fine eyebrows stitch together, his eye twitches like he was searching for something. “I don’t, I don’t remember anything.”

“Not even...the memory you had?”

“No, I don’t know what I remembered,” Jinyoung groans, pressing his palm to his forehead. “It’s like it’s there but all I see is...blackness- shadows.”

“It’s fine, don’t force yourself to remember.” Mark bites his bottom lip. There was an anxious feeling swirling around in his stomach, which was odd, Mark wasn’t one to feel anxious over anything.

“Was it bad? Like did I attack anyone this time?” Jinyoung asks.

“This time? You’ve attacked someone before?”

Jinyoung looks away and purses his lips a little, “Maybe threw a punch or two before. I don’t know either way the next day some guy in my sociology class ran up to me and got me right in the stomach.” Jinyoung grins this wide grin filled with mischief and a little bit of light heartedness.

Mark chuckles low and says, “No, you didn’t hit anyone. But I think it’s best you stay out of classes for the rest of the week-”

“Oh _god_ it was bad,” Jinyoung whines and writhes around on the bed, his legs kicking up from under the covers. “What did I do? Did I strip? Did I run around like a madman? No wait, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know, no- I do- ugggghhh.”

“J-Jinyoung calm down, jesus,” Mark gets up from the bed and watches Jinyoung twist and turn on the bed like someone had poured a jar full of ants down his shirt. “Jinyoung!”

Jinyoung halts mid twist, his back arching in an awkward angle and his legs and arms sprawled out off the bed. He then falls limp against the mattress and stares up at Mark with a look of defeat. “Give it to me Professor, I can take it.” He says and crosses his arms across his chest.

“Are you always this dramatic?”

Jinyoung half grins, the point of a canine teeth revealing itself. “I haven’t heard that in a long time.”

Mark looks down at him for a moment, his own arms are now crossed over his chest and he wonders just how much Mark should tell him. To hide some facts seemed immoral, but Mark also didn’t want to probe at a memory that seemed to be better off forgotten.

“You were speaking Japanese,” Mark says and goes to settle on the next bed. “I couldn’t understand what you were saying but you sounded scared then you fainted.”

Jinyoung sits up on the bed, his short hair is all ruffled up, the strands sticking up in opposing directions and his t-shirt is crumpled and wrinkled up against his chest, exposing the faint lines of his hips.

“Fainted? Ah, this makes sense now.” Jinyoung mumbles, taking the infirmary in with a quick glance. “I’ve never fainted before.”

“Never?”

Jinyoung shakes his head and moves to let his legs hang off the bed. He looks small where he is, his fingers clasped together on his lap like a young boy being told off.

The double doors swing open then, a woman in long slim fitted trousers and a short sleeved button up top clicks her way into the infirmary, her eyes lay upon Mark for a moment before they turn to Jinyoung. Youngjae follows in from behind her, his face flushed.

“I’m so sorry,” She huffs and quickly turns to the desk that was settled in the corner of the room, behind it were three long glass cabinets filled with medicines, cotton buds, bandages and equipment. “I was in a meeting with the headmaster; budget talks, not my favourite conversation.”

Mark looks at Youngjae and raises his eyebrows in a silent question, Youngjae huffs and puts out a hand, indicating he was fine, or he wasn’t but there wasn’t much to do about it.

They watch the nurse pluck out several boxes from different cabinets and then swiftly turn on her heels to make her way to Jinyoung. “Hello Jinyoung.” She sings pleasantly, Jinyoung gives her a large smile back in response. “Professor Choi and Tuan, is that right?” She says, giving Mark a look. Mark stares at her for a moment, a sense of familiarity coming over him. “I’m Nurse Kim, Kim Bohyung.”

“Ah,” Mark nods, not recognising the name. “Nice to meet you.”

Bohyung pulls out a small machine from a box, attached to it is a tube and a long strap. She looks at Mark and blinks, “You don’t recognise me?”

“Have we talked before? I’m sorry I don’t usually come to this side of the university,” Mark awkwardly mumbles, nodding his head in apology.

Bohyung shakes her head, her long brown locks bouncing with her. “When you saved this guy outside of the university, I tended to you. Don’t you remember?” She then takes two fingers up to her face and grins. “‘Peace!’”

Mark blinks rapidly, the sudden memory of someone jabbing him in the chest resurfaces and he internally groans. “Ah yes...I remember.”

“You must have been in a lot of pain,” She laughs and goes to turn to Jinyoung, who seems to have zoned out again. Mark eyes him as Bohyung goes to push up at his sleeve and straps a velcro piece around the top of his arm. “How are you feeling now?” She asks Mark.

“I’m fine, thank you for your help back then,” Mark replies as Bohyung presses a button on the machine, and a loud noise bursts out of it. The strap around Jinyoung’s arm grows large, and tightens around his muscles. Mark always hated the feeling of having your blood pressure being taken, the need to relax even though you felt your muscle threatening to pop was incredibly unpleasant. Although Jinyoung sat very still, as if he didn’t feel a thing, not even his body twitched.

“Blood pressure...and heart rate are fine,” Bohyung mumbles under her breath. “But it’s been awhile since your episode, right? Heard you caused caught a spectacle.”

Jinyoung blinks at that and turns to look at Mark. “I’m not sure,” He says. “I can’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?” Youngjae says from behind, taking a step closer to the three of them.

Jinyoung drags his eyes away from Mark and shakes his head.

Youngjae looks up at Mark as if he had any more answers than Jinyoung, but Mark only shrugs back in response. The look of confusion and dissatisfaction on Youngjae’s face being immensely relatable.

“I’m going to take your blood okay?” Bohyung mutters closely to Jinyoung and he nods, they move together simultaneously, they’ve evidently done this several times before.

She takes out something similar to a plastic pen and unwraps a needle to place into it. Quickly, she pricks the point of Jinyoung’s grey fingers and Mark watches a bubble of blood emerge. Bohyung gets a thin strip of paper and scrapes it against his finger, it soaks up the blood until the tip turns a pinkish colour and then she places the strip into a small machine, seconds later a number beeps up onto its screen.

“Your sugar levels are really low,” The nurse states, giving Jinyoung a look. “You haven’t eaten today have you?”

Jinyoung frowns looking at Bohyung then Mark then the floor. Mark remembers the bowl of tteokbokki Jinyoung had left untouched early that afternoon, he’d figured he just wasn’t hungry and didn’t bother to force him to finish it.

“I’d go get him something but I have a class in ten minutes,” Youngjae says, looking at his very old watch. Even from the distance Mark was at he could see the leather strap peeling on all sides. He wonders if the thing was even ticking. “You guys okay for me to go?”

“Go, go, I’ve got no more classes for today anyway,” Mark reassures him with a nod. Youngjae nods back and with a wave he leaves the infirmary.

“And as usual, there are no other indications there is anything wrong,” Bohyung sighs and slouches where she is. “Do you want to try to go to a hospital? Get that MRI I was talking about?”

“No, no, no hospitals,” Jinyoung sighs. “Nothing will change.”

“You don’t know until you go,” She retorts.

“Believe me, I know.” He says and then twists his head around, looking around the floor. “I’m just going to get some food and head to my dorm- does anyone know where my shoes are?”

“On the other side,” Mark says.

“Thanks.” Jinyoung gets up and walks around the bed, Bohyung and Mark watch him as he nonchalantly slips into his shoes and then looks up at the two of them with a smile. “Thanks Miss Kim, and I’ll see you tomorrow Professor?”

“Make sure you eat something,” Mark says whilst Bohyung starts to pack up her equipment, she gets up to put them away in the cabinet, a displeased look on her face all the whilst.

“Will do.” Jinyoung jokingly salutes and heads to the door but then pauses. “You know Professor…”

“Hm?”

“I really don’t remember anything but…” His head tilts to the side in thought. “I remember your voice for some reason.” He looks over his shoulder and smiles innocently. “I wonder why.” He says finally before leaving.

“Poor boy,” Bohyung sighs under her breath and shuts the cabinets before heading back to the bed to fix the covers. “Oh, he forgot his shirt.” She says, picking up his flannel shirt from the bed.

“I’ll give it to him,” Mark says, his eyes still on the double doors that clicked shut a long time ago.

*

_There’s always been something haunting about the hallow creak of a house. Where the wood groans in pain, it’s corners and pillars crying under the weight it’s been forced to hold. Houses can be lonely things, where their rooms are void of life and their floors are clean of foot prints. They’re brittle and fragile too, one kick here and the whole thing can crumble - it’s hard to keep yourself up when you’ve lost your heart and your will._

_This house however is falling apart, not because it’s empty, not because it’s lonely but because what should be it’s heart has turned into it’s enemy. This house is alight. This house is turning into ash. It’s wallpaper peeling like skin, exposing it’s bone until they too turn into charred ash, brittle broken things falling apart._

_This house is on fire. The flames licking up hungrily at the wooden beams, the smoke filling up the hollow rooms. This house is choking, it’s suffocating, and it’s legs are being torn out from under it. This house will crumble and turn into dust only for the wind to gather it up and bid it farewell. Only the wind will hear it’s last cries._

_The cries of pain and loneliness, the cries of longing gone on for too long and the cries of immense ache of a love torn away._

_The cries of a person. A person who has been set alight, and is burning to the ground._

Mark slams into his bedroom floor with a violent thump. He gasps, wheezes, the air struggling to enter his lungs as his nails scratch into the floorboards below him. He’s drowning in cold sweat, his shirt sticking to him like another layer of skin. His heart is slamming against his chest, aggressively and frantically, like it was scared of it’s confinements and all it wanted was to rip out against the bones that held it caged.

It’s early morning out, the sky is dyed in the colour of twilight; a ghostly blue hue slipping in through the windows drowns the room, and Mark feels like he’s underwater. He certainly can’t breathe, so he’s even contemplating whether it was possible for a flood to reach this deep into Seoul.

But the floor is cold against his cheek and the bed he clutches to is dry, so Mark quickly figures out _this_ , this is an attack.

He looks up at the desk settled on the other side of his room, just a step away from his single bed and crawls his way to the drawers settled below it. The desk is old and dark, its legs wobbling with age and it’s drawers racketing with every pull from their loose knobs.

Mark quickly dives into the bottom drawer, and pulls out a small white bottle, it’s insides rattling with his hands. Quickly, he pops open the lid and shakes out what was meant to be two pills but finds seven come tumbling out instead, half of them falling to the floor. With a flash of his hand he brings his palm to his open mouth and urgently swallows the pills.

He counts in his head _one...two...three…_ until he feels the urgent hum of his heart settle and his body goes limp. Mark feels his body give way, settling his back onto the side of his bed frame and lets his head lay back onto the mattress.

It’s four deep breaths later that Mark hears his room door open with a quiet creak. He turns his head and finds Insook in a thin robe and slippers looking at Mark with wrinkle heavy eyes. “Is everything okay, child?” She asks lowly and inches her way deeper into the room.

“I’m fine,” Mark says with a flick of his hand. He finds his throat dry as he swallows down his saliva, his lips chapped and brittle too and goes to his bed side cabinet, his hand tapping around blindly for his bottle of water.

Insook is there before him, she picks up the bottle and untwists it, then goes to settle on her knees to offer it to him. He gives her a shy smile as he takes the bottle to his lips and drinks the liquid in with desperation. He hears something rattle then, and looks to find Insook with the bottle of pills in one hand as she goes to pick up the pills that fell.

“They’re just vitamins,” Mark blurts out, it was a bad lie but Insook didn’t have any reaction to it. Instead she simply goes to close the cap and place it back into the drawer, giving it a final shut.

She then turns to him, her knees clicking as she leans into Mark and gives his forehead a soft press with the back of her hand. “You should go take a shower Mark...you look like a drowned rat.”

Mark blinks wide eyed, snorts, then bursts out into laughter. Insook heaves where she is, slowly straightening out her legs and holds herself from the small of her back as she steps over Mark and heads for the door.

“Thank you Ahjumma,” Mark hums from where he is on the floor. Insook doesn’t look back as she leaves through the door and shuts it behind her. Mark stares on for a moment before he looks down into his lap and at his open palms.

For a moment, he thinks he see’s pale palms covered in smudges of grey but the morning sun that seems to be slowly slipping through the blue sky shifts and then he’s just looking at his hands, clean and still. He flexes them, balls them into fists then relaxes them, they were definitely his hands, he’s pretty sure, but it’s always been so easy for Mark to feel detached, to feel like his limbs weren’t his, to feel like the room he sat in wasn’t real, to even question his own existence.

Mark knew he was here, and yet he felt like he wasn’t.

*

The hallway in Insook’s house is always dimly lit. Mark wasn’t sure just how long she went living on her own for, but he got the feeling that after a while she decided there was no point in putting on a light for people that were never going to come. Mark doesn’t know much, but from what he get’s out of a few postcards and some pictures in frames scattered across the house, he knows her husband has died, and that she refuses to acknowledge her only daughter's existence.

He’s never asked her about it though, never pried, there was a sort of silent agreement between them; they’d only ask when need be, and only tell when they wanted to.

After last night, Mark was more than thankful for that agreement.

But if there was one thing Insook got involved with continuously, it was with Mark and his parents. A very loud rule was applied three months into his tenancy, when Insook noticed he’d avoid all phone calls with his parents, she had made a very clear statement that if he were to continue she’d either shove the phone down his throat, or kick him out. Now Mark wasn’t fond of any of those options just as much as he was with answering his mother’s calls.

And his mother’s calls were suicide inducing.

“ _Yes mum, I’m fine mum,_ ” Mark mumbles in English into the receiver, he’s got his fingers coiled into the wire of the phone. Somewhere in the back of his head he’s wondering just how old this machine is.

“ _Then why don’t you answer your phone?_ ” She huffs, her English perfect as her Chinese is, Mark thinks his ease in picking up languages must have come from her. Mark leans into the banister of the stairs. The phone is placed on a coffee table in the hallway leading to the kitchen, beside it is a vase of freshly cut roses which Mark used to find pleasant, but these days it was just reminding him of these phone calls he hated so much.

“ _I’ve just been busy, I’ve got a lot of classes and stuff,_ ” Mark replies, and winces when he hears his mother’s sigh loud and clear.

“ _Your sisters call me just fine, then again you were always different to your sisters,_ ” She makes the comment under her breath as if she didn’t want Mark to hear. Mark heard. “ _Anyway, have you heard? My new book is being released in Japan and Korea next month, tell me if any of your students or colleagues would like a signed copy, okay? You must get hassled a lot because of me._ ”

“ _Not really…_ ” Mark says low, secretly hoping she didn’t hear him, or chose not to.

“ _What?_ ”

“ _I mean no one knows you’re my mother,_ ” Mark mutters, his head bending lower and lower with every syllable that comes out of his mouth.

“ _What do you mean? Why wouldn’t they know? My books are famous down there you know- did you not tell anyone?_ ” Her voice quickly turns bitter and Mark shuts his eyes, he hopes maybe out of some coincidence this specific piece of earth would just crack open and swallow him up.

“ _No one really asked and I didn’t make an effort to announce it-_ ”

“ _Don’t you have- the facebook, is it? They’ll treat you better if they know you’re my son, take you more seriously,_ ” She says.

“ _Mum, they take me seriously enough._ ”

She laughs then, and Mark flinches, the only times his mother ever laughs is when she was either really angry or found something incredibly ridiculous. Mark assumes this time it’s a mix of the both. “ _You? With your indirect words, and your scientific riddles, don’t be ridiculous Mark. I may write fiction, but you, you think you can make fiction reality._ ”

And amongst many other things, this was one of the main reasons he hated talking to his mother. It wasn’t like her judgmental attitude and narcissism was just refrained to strangers and others, to gossiping and the lot, but it was directed to her only son for the very fact he decided to pursue a path no one understood.

Sometimes he tries to understand her, most of the time though the hollow feelings inside him take over and his thoughts are only filled with the seconds that tick by for this conversation to end. It usually only did when Mark’s father finally decided to take over the phone.

“ _When are you going to stop talking to him like that?_ ” Another voice says from the distance, Mark hums deeply, he can almost see his father’s old face, all filled with disapproval marching up to his mother and snatching the phone out of her hand. “ _Mark? Is that you?_ ”

“ _Hi, dad,_ ” Mark murmurs softly, the ends of his lips not feeling so heavy any more.

“ _How are you, my boy? I always seem to miss you when you call or...when your mother decides to call._ ” He says the last bit with a clear of his throat.

“ _I’m good, Dad. What about you?_ ”

“ _I’m good now, Mark, I’m good._ ” He let’s out a large sigh of relief. “ _You sound tired, go get some rest and we can skype another day, hm?_ ”

Mark nods to himself, “ _Yeah, say bye to mum._ ”

With that, the line cuts and Mark looks down at the phone, thinking the long, flat beep from the receiver sounded a lot like his insides.

*

Jinyoung’s flannel shirt has been hanging on Mark’s desk chair for three days straight now. He’s gone to bed counting exactly how much lines go up and down and across the dark blue piece of clothing and even went ahead and snipped at the fraying strands from the sleeves. By the fourth day, Mark’s had enough.

Like Mark told him, Jinyoung doesn’t come into class for the rest of the week, so now the flannel shirt is all wrinkled up in his shoulder bag. Although Jinyoung may not have come into lectures, Mark thought he’d still see him roaming around the campus one of these days, but he thought wrong.

So, finally having had enough of the scent of faded cologne following him around, Mark decides to make his way to the dormitory. Which was easier said than done because there were three different campus dorms, which each had another four separate buildings, which had about five floors worth of three different hallways and eighteen different rooms. Point being, Mark got lost.

The university reception was closed on Sunday’s so Mark had to make due with asking students around about either a Park Jinyoung or Im Jaebum, most of them rung empty bells. Mark got lucky every so often when he describes ‘the guy that speaks different languages and throws fits sometimes’, therefore managing to narrow it down to one of the buildings.

Now it was just a matter on ringing every single room in the whole building until finding Jinyoung’s room. He’s at the third room, having talked to about two different hung over students and one that really didn’t believe he was a professor at the university and hung up on him when he see’s Jaebum come out the door beside him.

“Jaebum?” Mark calls out cautiously. He has to admit no matter how comfortable he was with Insook, there was still something about Jaebum’s face that scared him off.

Jaebum stops mid step and looks over his shoulder to eye Mark, looking him up and down. “Who are you?”

“Ah Mark Tuan, I’m a professor,” Mark awkwardly introduces himself, bowing a little bit. He thinks Insook would hit the back of his head right about now, she almost killed him for bowing to a little kid the other day they went grocery shopping.

“Oh, oh, the Philosophy professor from America, right?” Jaebum jumps all of a sudden and holds out a hand. “Im Jaebum, I wanted to take your class this year but I missed the openings for this semester.”

Mark’s jaw goes slack for a brief moment before he clips it shut and throws out his hand to shake Jaebum’s, except Jaebum bows too and now Mark is stuck mid bow amidst confusion as to what exactly is going on right now. He decides to stand still.

“Ah, is that so?” Mark mumbles and quickly slips his hand out of Jaebum’s tight grip.

Jaebum looks up at Mark with a wide smile, throwing him off completely now. “Yeah, I’ve read several of your thesis’ but I’ve never seen a picture of you before, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you before.”

“No, no, it’s really alright,” Mark says, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t come here to bother you. I was just wondering if Park Jinyoung is in?”

Jaebum’s face falters then, but only for brief moment before he plasters a new smile on. “Yes, he’s been inside our dorm room for the past couple of days.” Mark thinks he hears bitterness in his voice but he can’t tell if he was just overthinking it. “Would you like me to show you the way?”

“No, it’s fine, just tell me the door room and floor?” Mark asks and Jaebum gives him a stiff nod.

Room fighty eight is on the second floor, the first corridor on the right from the flight of stairs. Mark feels a little sense of nostalgia wash over him as he walks through the hallways that are filled with the smell of burnt food and weed. He also feels a little conscious as he walks past students in jeans and hoodies while he sports on a pair of trousers and a vest jumper. Sometimes he wonders if he’s trying too hard to compensate for his baby face, but really no one believed he was a professor here at first.

When Mark finally reaches the door, he brushes a hand through his hair and then uses his knuckle to knock twice. There’s a loud thump that comes from behind the door and Mark hears his voice, “Jaebum? Did you forget something-” His voice is muffled as he opens the door and then Jinyoung is greeting Mark in the entry with nothing but a pair of boxers on and an ice lolly between his lips.

Mark opens his mouth, and then closes it. Jinyoung’s jaw goes slack too, his ice lolly slipping out, “Oh shit!” Jinyoung squeaks and goes to catch it but it slips, sliding out of his hand and then landing neatly on the carpet floor. “Oh, that’s bad. That’s very bad.” Jinyoung quickly goes to pick it up and looks up at Mark sheepishly.

“Professor, please, just give me two minutes- two minutes, okay?” Jinyoung demands, not even giving Mark a chance to respond before shutting the door in his face. This then is followed by an orchestra of sounds from clattering, banging, swinging, flying, landing from all corners of the room, there’s even the occasional high pitched scream from Jinyoung.

Exactly six minutes later, Mark was counting, Jinyoung swings the door open again. This time he’s in a pair of cargo shorts and a black t-shirt that hugs his body a little too tight. “Professor...what brings you here on this lovely mor-” He looks over his shoulder at the slanted clock hanging on the opposite wall and then swivels his head back round with a wide smile. “Afternoon.”

Mark cocks an eyebrow and then goes to reach into his bag, pulling out Jinyoung’s shirt. “I came to give this back.” He says, handing it out.

“Oh, thanks, you didn’t need to come all the way for it, though,” Jinyoung says, taking the piece from Mark. “Come in, come in. Make yourself at home. Jaebum just left, so he won’t be here for a while.”

“Ah yeah, I bumped into him on the way out,” Mark says, walking into the room. The room was rectangular shaped, and split perfectly in half. Both sides mirrored each other, a single bed on either side of the wall, a walk in closet at the foot of it, and two desks placed directly underneath the large window where books towered, and endless files of paper were stacked across the windowsill.

Everything was almost identical however on the left side, every single inch of wall and ceiling was plastered with drawings, blueprints, large papers containing what looks like parts of a structure, and others looking like a sunset. It was overwhelming.

“Oh, did you? Yeah, he hasn’t been too happy I’ve been here for three days flat,” Jinyoung laughs and heads to his desk where he shoves away pencil sharpenings and residues of rubber. He then pulls out his desk chair and indicates for Mark to have a seat. “Would you like some tea- coffee, we have coffee...maybe.”

“It’s fine, I know student budgets,” Mark snorts as he goes to settle his shoulder bag onto the hook behind the door and heads towards the chair. He eyes the built-in closet, it’s white door creaking suspiciously and wonders just how much Jinyoung must have stuffed into it.

Jinyoung flops onto his made bed, his head leaning against what looks like a blueprint for a church. Mark wills himself to look away from the walls and turns his head towards the window, there wasn’t much in the distance but the woods that bordered this campus.

“So how are you?” Mark asks, dragging his eyes back into the room.

Jinyoung purses his lips and shrugs, “Well, better than usual. Slept like a baby after what happened, you know.”

“You remember anything after then? Anything related to it?”

“No, nothing Japan or Japanese related if that’s what you mean. Just the usual stuff…” Jinyoung says, playing with his thumbs. Mark just notices then that Jinyoung has a bit of gel in his hair.

“The usual? Are they one of those eleven ones you see often?” Mark asks. “Why don’t you tell me about one of them?”

Jinyoung half smiles and goes to lean against his cushion, “Are we having a session right now professor?”

“I wasn’t planning to but since I’m here, we haven’t had one in three days anyway.”

“Why don’t we spend today trying to get to know you Professor?” There’s a cheeky smile on Jinyoung’s face, and Mark can’t tell if he’s being serious or he’s trying to poke fun.

“What would you like to know?”

“Well for one your name,” Jinyoung says, sitting up.

“You don’t know my name?”

“There was never an opportunity...” Jinyoung puts his palms up in defence.

“It was on the sign up site when you applied for my class Jinyoung,” Mark deadpans, in fact he feels a little insulted that Jinyoung hadn’t bothered asking this whole time.

“Professor, I don’t think you know how sign ups here are like - they’re hell, I’m pretty sure I didn’t take in any oxygen for the whole process, I still can’t believe I managed to get into your class,” Jinyoung huffs, he even shivers a bit as if that memory of all of them were to render him traumatised.

Mark gives him a thin glare then slouches back in his seat, “It’s Mark Tuan.”

“Mark,” Jinyoung repeats it with a slight accent. “Mark Tuan. I wasn’t expecting that. No wait, yes I was, I read your thesis, that’s it! Your name was on your thesis.” Jinyoung says with a click of his fingers.

“Wow, for someone who remember’s other people’s lives it’s amazing how much you can’t remember anything about your current one,” Mark says with a shake of his head, he’s really not even trying to hide just how offended he feels.

Jinyoung shrugs, “To-may-toe, to-mah-toe.”

“That literally makes no sense.” Mark retorts and Jinyoung just replies with a wide grin. “So, what else do you want to know? Or can we start talking about you now?”

“No wait wait, I had a list of questions, give me a second,” Jinyoung goes to massage his temples and then suddenly bursts his eyes wide open. “Why did you become a philosophy professor?”

“That’s a pretty...broad question.”

“I know, I know but look I was thinking, I read your thesis’ right and even while talking to Professor Choi, I came to find out that you had started off mostly on psychology, understanding the mind and stuff, but then suddenly you switched and started focusing on philosophy. Why?” Jinyoung blinks, his lips pressed together with an immense look of interest. Mark feels uncomfortable.

“I don’t know...I guess at some point I realised I didn’t want to just understand the science of people but the reality of it all?” Mark trails off, he was usually pretty confident when it came to his profession, but nothing seemed to function well in front of Jinyoung.

“How do you do that?” Jinyoung gapes.

“Do what?”

“Say so much in so little?”

Mark cringes back and frowns, “You’re being a little much.”

“Oh, oh,” Jinyoung slaps his palms to his cheeks but Mark has already caught the faint redness in them. “Am I being a little too transparent? I’m sorry I mean I’ve kind of been a fan for a while but I was kind of out of it this whole time you never kind of sunk in- okay, now I’m sounding weird.” He whines and Mark can’t help but smile as he begins to thrash on the bed.

“You know what?” Mark says with a slap of his thighs. “Why don’t we forgot the session and order some take out? You haven’t eaten have you?”

Jinyoung looks up from under the arm he sprawled over his face, “I ate...yesterday...morning.”

Mark’s smile drops, “What?”

Jinyoung quickly scrambles onto his feet and hops off the bed, “I’ll go get the take out menus. You’re paying, right Professor?” He sings as he dashes out the room, and makes his way down the hall.

Mark shakes his head and gets up from his seat, a smile still playing on his lips. He walks around the room a little, eyeing the drawings plastered to the wall with a little more concentration. One specific drawing sticks out to him the most; it’s a pencil sketch of the sunset, the sun just above the horizon, it’s light dancing upon the river which is surrounded by several wooden houses. It takes his breath away and it also twists an anxious knot in his stomach. He steps closer to it, his eyebrows knitting together as the lines on the page become clearer, more vibrant, colours washing in and out as if he’d seen this drawing before, as if he’d seen this place before.

“I _have_ seen this before,” Mark mutters under his breath, his hand shaking as he brings his fingers to the paper.

“Okay we got chinese and we got chicken, to be honest, I’m thinking chicken...” Jinyoung waltzes back into the room, nose deep in take out menus. Mark jolts where he is and swivels around as if he were caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. “Professor, what do you think?” Jinyoung says looking up at the now empty seat. He double takes and finds Mark at the foot of his bed, his hands awkwardly locked behind him.

“I don’t mind, whatever you want,” Mark says, clearing his throat. Jinyoung gives him a wide grin which means that he’ll definitely be ordering from more than one menu. Mark watches him as he goes to flop back onto his bed, digging his phone out from underneath his pillow.

“Jinyoung…” Mark calls out lowly.

“Hm?”

“What are these drawings about? Or from?”

Jinyoung looks up briefly then back at his phone, giving Mark a quick shrug, “You know I said there’s eleven lives I can put together for definite? That’s from one of them, well one of the first ones I remembered anyway. I saw blue prints and paintings or drawings at first and I drew them like mad, thinking I’d forget them.” Jinyoung chuckles darkly. “ _If only._ ”

Mark swallows hard, he tries to wipe the sweat that’s accumulated on his palm onto his trousers, but he can’t seem to get them dry. “Can I ask where, what time? Do you know?”

Jinyoung looks up again, this time in thought, and then towards Mark as if he were asking a question, “Was it early 1800’s? Mid 1800’s? Yeah, I know it was in Finland, 1825 or something.” He says, and looks back down, focusing so much on the number he was typing in that he doesn’t catch the very tiny gasp Mark takes in.


	5. lunacy

Detachment is a cold, absent kind of feeling. It’s severed strings, it’s holes waiting to be filled, it’s empty hope and it’s borderline inhumane. To grow and not understand fondness, to not understand love or feel attachment, Mark still wonders if it is a blessing or a curse.

Building human relationships didn’t come natural to Mark, at first it could have been mistaken as being shy or awkward. Later, he realised it was simply hard to feel attachment to places, to people that didn’t feel real to him.

Or maybe he didn’t feel real to himself? Growing up in China as an only child, it was easy to feel lost and alone. To be surrounded by people so alike to you in some ways makes you lose yourself. For Mark, however, there was something significantly different. In the mind of a child, he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly but it was similar to standing still in the middle of a moving crowd, everyone going in the same direction, but only he would turn back, even when his shoulders were shoved and he’d feel the current of the crowd dragging him, he was always looking back.

_You were always different to your sisters._

He was, but his mother never really knew why. Mark didn’t either, not until the memories began to trickle in.

At first they come in flashes, dreams, the wild imagination of a boy. Then the languages slipped through; at first his parents thought he was talking in some sort of gibberish children tended to do, he spoke Chinese and English just fine, but there were words, sometimes sentences that never fit in either vocabulary.

It was when he was eight did they realise he was speaking Finnish, and by the time he was nine, he was scared off enough by his parents to never speak the language ever again.

 _They’ll take you away_.

It was funny almost for someone who has lived more than once, who has felt the world tear up and crumble beneath his feet, to still be afraid of abandonment. It was a numbing sort of fear, that left him breathless and weak.

And then at the age of twelve, Mark had experienced death.

It was as if a leaking faucet had suddenly been turned open and Mark was flooded with everything at once; memories of people, emotions, places, languages, events, of everything that wasn’t his life and was at the same time. And he was drowning.

He was a thirteen, he was twenty, he was forty five, and he was dying all at the same time.

It wasn’t until he was fifteen could he control the breakdowns, to bite back the screams that threatened to rip his throat at night, and to hold in pain he had never felt but remembered so vividly it was as if his insides were ripping apart but he was still intact somehow.

To feel death, and to still breath. To take your last breath and to still wake up. To feel pain beyond this world and not have the scars. It was like being pulled under water, your lungs aching for air, your muscles tightening, death approaching and then suddenly the surface hits and the fire in your chest settles until you submerge again.

Mark has been submerged his entire life.

 

 

 

*

Turku, _1827_

Barrick understood the need to _schmooze_ , he just hated it when an immense fever that he tended to only leave aside for work. At that moment however it was making the veins under his skin boil and rumble like they were about to crawl out and burst open. His lips quirk at the thought; _drowning this place in blood would make it a tad more festive._

It was a morbid thought, quite unlike him, but suits and ties, ball room and glass chandeliers, expensive wine and ridiculously small pieces of food lit a frustration in him he wasn’t used to. Barrick hadn’t come from a rich background, his parents ran a bakery in Kristiinankaupunki. It was a small town of few people, with a single shop of each trade occupying the streets amongst small wood cottages.

He missed it often, he tended to go out into the woods to practice his art, to draw, to let his imagination run free with the cold wind that danced between the spruce trees. When it snowed, he’d climb the hills south of the town to view the spectacular spread of snow that blanketed the town, the woods and the mountains in the far distance. He’d draw like he never drew before, his breath puffing up into clouds, his hands shaking, creating jagged lines as he dug himself deeper into his tattered coat on. A coat he still kept even though he did not wear it anymore, it reminded him of home, the stitches going up seams that would snap and wither, patches of mismatched material sewn upon holes; his mother wasn’t a tailor, in fact she was horrible with her hands, leading her to tend to the finances of their bakery while his father baked, but when she was determined to do something, she’d do it. They were quite alike.

Barrick hadn’t missed his parents as much as he did now standing in the shadows of the ball room, feeling a mix of loneliness and astonishment. It was breathtakingly large, in his hometown the biggest thing Barrick had been in was the church and even then that didn’t even make up for a quarter of this hall. The ceilings stood high, and as much Barrick frowned upon his current situation, he couldn’t help but marvel up at the beautiful paintings from above. Gold ropes bordered the canvas’ of blooming flowers and clouds so vivid he’d think they were moving. Chandeliers as large as horses hung elegantly, dripping in diamonds like a wedding gown illuminated by candle lights. The dance floor was checkered with fine polished wood of mahogany and pine, ladies shoes clicking sweetly against the smooth surface.

An orchestra, settled in the far corner of the room, plays a delicate, calming tune. Barrick watches the violinists glide their bows against the strings and he thinks of his church in Kristiinankaupunki, if he were to extend the alter further out into the woods, he could manage to fit a balcony just above the entrance of the church where a small orchestra could sit upon and play sweet melodies. Where his sister could play.

He halts his thoughts then, refusing images of his sweet sisters face. It had been six years since Barrick had left his family, and although the ache for his home hadn’t subsided, he had to will himself to scatter thoughts of what he longed for. He promised he would make a name for himself, and only then would he go back.

“ _You look as if, if you were to choose between dancing or death, you would choose the latter, my friend,_ ” A friendly chuckle came from behind Barrick alongside a light tap to the shoulder. Barrick looks over his shoulder to find his neighbour, and loyal friend, Carl Gustav Hellman tugging at his bowtie and smiling widely. Carl had a wildish look to him, his hair curly and dark, with bright hazel eyes that seemed to only take the world in with shimmering amusement, equipped with a constant smirk that took hold of his face.

“ _I cannot disagree with you, my ‘friend’,_ ” Barrick responds, refusing all attempts in mirroring his friend’s smile. Instead he took his eyes to the dance floor to glare dubiously at the cellist who looked as if he were simply ghosting his bow over his instrument. He also looked like he were to fall asleep at any second.

Carl gives Barrick a large slap upon his back and nudges him from the side, “ _It isn’t possible you’re still upset with me Nieminen, are you?_ ” He asks the question as if it were even possible to be upset with him in the first place. “ _You know I brought you here for your own good._ ”

“ _You brought me here because you could not find a lady to court,_ ” Barrick corrected him with a fine pale finger pointing upwards. “ _And yes, I understand that this is eventually something I must do, but I hate it. Why can’t one just simply make it without the help of others?_ ”

“ _Because power is everything, my sweet, innocent Barrick, and if you try and challenge those with power, they will come raining down on you like the Lord came down upon Sodom and Gemorrah._ ” Carl makes a dramatic gesture with his hands, raising them up towards the ceiling where the painted clouds seem to settle into his palms. He then drops them and lets out a hoot of a laugh.

Barrick simply rolls his eyes and takes a step out of the shadows he had submerged himself in for so long he suddenly felt conscious of the light hitting him. “ _That’s my boy,_ ” Carl taunts from the side. Carl was the first friend Barrick had made when he had moved to Turku at the age of fourteen, his eccentric and pushy personality meant Barrick had no choice in the matter of their relationship. Not that he entirely minded, all the time.

The Hellman family however minded quite a bit. Carl’s family was part of a generation of bankers, he was born with a gold bar in his hand and he lived his life with flourish. A poor boy from a background of bakers in a small town was apparently no appropriate friend of his, but Carl did not care. In fact, he rarely cared about anything, he did, however have a sort of affection for Barrick.

“ _And where is your usual chaperone the-great Sir Charles Carlo Bassi, I have not seen him since we entered,_ ” Carl asks as his eyes roam across the ballroom lazily.

“ _He has gone to visit his family back in Italy,_ ” Barrick replies as he picks up two long cups of champagne, handing one to Carl. “ _Besides he does not like these events as much as I do._ ” He says as he watches the bubbles in his drink closely.

Carl has already downed his champagne. “ _That, or he simply doesn’t want to run into Carl Engel,_ ” He snickers and as a result it earns him a kick to his shin from the heel of Barrick’s shoes. “ _Ow! Now that is unfair, not with the shoes I had especially bought for you, bad boy._ ”

Barrick turns to face his friend up close, he was taller and broader, his shadow quickly encompassing his friends lean, slim form. “ _Am I your dog?_ ” Barrick asks with a raise of his eyebrow.

Carl shrugs and then shrinks back, “ _Close enough?_ ” He grins and then his attention is quickly taken by something that must have been more entertaining because his smirk seems to glimmer and then he gives Barrick a mischievous look. “ _Speak of the devil._ ” He nods towards several clothed tables catered with perfectly polished silverware and pearl white plates.

Amongst them stand several men in dark suits and bowties, shaking hands with a new arrival. Barrick instantly recognises the man as Carl Ludvig Engel, a man nearly ten years older than him in age and a phenomenal architect.

Carl whistles, “ _From humble architect to Director of Public Housing, the man knows how to get around,_ ” He jokes but Barrick is too busy glaring at the man. “ _You’ll hurt yourself like that, my dear Barrick, as much as you try your eyes cannot kill a man._ ”

“ _I do not wish death upon him,_ ” Barrick mutters, forcing his eyes away and back to the dance floor. He then looks down at the empty glass in his hand and wonders exactly when he had drunk the contents of it.

“ _You’re just simply bitter, aren’t you? So if not death then you wish a pack of wolves would just rip off his arms and render him entirely useless, hoping in some vain that your dear, dear teacher oh! Carlo would regain his position as the first head of the National Board of Building again,_ ” Carl twirls and ends his theatrics with a wiggle of his fingers, then freezes mid motion. “ _Oh, I also forgot to mention you are also incredibly in love with him and wish for his wife’s soon death so you can claim your rightful position as his one and only lover?_ ”

Barrick gives Carl a thin glare and almost wishes he were holding an entire bottle of champagne to swallow, “ _You are a cruel man, are you aware?_ ”

“ _I am in fact a man of humour, who also happens to lack an immense amount of empathy, but there is a difference, I assure you._ ” Carl retorts with a wag of his fingers. “ _Oh my, my, my...now who would that be?_ ”

Barrick follows Carl’s line of sight which glides across the dance floor. Several couples cradle each other, women in beautiful glittering gowns sway, their dresses flowing as if a soft breeze were dancing with them, their hair perfectly pinned upwards, curls flowing past delicate shoulders. Amongst them stands a single women, tall and hauntingly beautiful, her skin a sweet peach colour, her cheek bones high arching against sleek green eyes. She held herself with pride, a high chin and a straight back, and she moved as slow and delicate as a swan upon a lake. Barrick held his breath as the women seemed to almost lock eyes with him and then they shifted quickly and Barrick tries hard to regain the composure he was always so sure to keep up.

“ _So you’re weak to a pretty face?_ ” Carl snorts. “ _How surprising._ ”

“ _Be quiet_ ,” Barrick hisses, his whole body tensing up as the women begins to stride down the dance floor. She wore a dress of deep red, like the colour blood, it curled around her shoulders and blossomed down the side of her hips in black lace and ruffled silk. She is stark against the pale dresses of those around her, as is her hair a deep, rich black that hangs off her shoulders, and reaches her hips in perfect waves. It made Barrick think of the Aura river at night.

He then almost buckles over when he realises her destination was the small corner Barrick and Carl had occupied with the shadows. She is now most definitely looking directly at Barrick as she moved closer and at this distance Barrick realised her eyes were in fact a mix of hazel and emerald.

“ _Oh my,_ ” Carl gasps with a palm to his chest, and dips his head. “ _What an honour to have such a beautiful lady in my presence, you spoil me._ ” Carl moved like this often, being rich and good looking meant that woman would easily waver their virtue for one night and a selection of jewellery and expensive clothes. Barrick can’t say he’s much different however, except the ‘one night’ part, although he’d think Carl wouldn’t be too against the idea.

“ _I haven’t come to bless your presence Mr Hellman, I’ve come for Mr Nieminen here,_ ” She turns her head swiftly, as if her chin was ready to slice, her eyes were bright but now that they were this close, Barrick could feel a darkness deep in them. “ _I am Henrikka Arseniy Zakrevskiy, it is a pleasure to meet you. I have heard a lot about you from Mr Bassi._ ”

Barrick somehow managed to blink out of his daze at that, “ _You know Charles?_ ”

“ _My father is quite fond him,_ ” She says with a thin smile.

“ _Wait, wait!_ ” Carl threw up his hands. “ _Zakreviskiy? As in you are the Governor-General’s daughter_?”

Henrikka’s lips twitch down just a fraction in response but she was quick in layering on a smile. “ _Yes, I am his daughter-_ ”

“ _His bastard daughter, right?_ ” Carl scoffed, a look of incredible fascination, and something darker takes over him and he leans in close to the lady. Barrick quickly puts a warning hand on his shoulder. “ _Wait, wait, what could you possibly be doing here?_ ”

Henrikka doesn’t look even mildly phased by Carl’s sudden intimidating posture and instead she raises her chin, “ _I came to meet Mr Nieminen, do you have an issue banker?_ ”

“ _Oooh, you make it sound as if it were an insult,_ ” Carl laughed, flashing his teeth. He then turned to Barrick. “ _Have you heard? There were rumours of the Governor-General and his bastard daughter but I never thought they were true, but what a delight, indeed. I must say, my lady, you have made my night incredibly interesting. Tell me, is it true? What they say? That your father fell in love with an oh-so lowly Finnish women and only until his son died last year, did he decide to claim you as his child?_ ”

Henrikka takes a single, defining step towards Carl, her eyes cold as she stares upon him. “ _If you think for a moment I will even satisfy an inch of your curiosity for the sake of clearing my name, then you are wrong._ ” Henriikka growls, it’s a deep, thundering sound that sends shivers down both the men’s spines.

“ _Ah but what if I were to announce to the whole room that the Governor’s bastard child had decided to grace us with her presence?_ ”

“ _I would not care, I was invited here, after all I am part of the commonfolk of Turku,_ ” She said with a small smile, as if she was laughing at her own personal joke.

“ _Commonfolk aren’t allowed here,_ ” Carl shows faint signs of displeasment and Barrick tenses up, knowing things could easily go very wrong if Carl were to lose his temper.

“ _That’s enough,_ ” Barrick demands, his voice low but deep, rendering Carl frozen for a moment like a soldier to his general. “ _Enough bickering, I am Barrick Nieminen, it is a pleasure to meet you._ ”

“ _Oh my Barrick, don’t let her pretty face fool you, you can almost taste the lunacy in the air,_ ” He spat, his face now contorted into a horrible shape of disgust. Barrick felt his eyebrows knit together in confusion, even more so when he saw Henrikka smile widely as she turned towards him.

“ _I guess I cannot deny that one,_ ” She said lightly, the words almost sweet. “ _It’s a pleasure to meet you Barrick, as I said I am Henrikka, and I guess I am a bit of a lunatic._ ”

*

Mark doesn’t sleep for two nights straight. Even though exhaustion settles heavily onto his back, the thoughts run rampant in his mind, and his body fights with itself amongst an ancient old fear that seems to have awoken from it’s slumber.

He looks up out his window where a crescent moon hangs upon an empty sea of darkness, you could barely see the stars here, Mark imagines they’re just as lost as he feels right now. And he had not felt this way for a long time.

The memories he’d tried so hard to lock away and shove to the corners of his mind rumble, and quake like a demon sprouting from hell below. It sparks at his nerves and threatens to spill tears down his eyes and it whispers in his ear as if the devil himself were settled upon his shoulder; _remember_.

His remembers, remembers so vividly, so wildly it was if he were settled within the snow and he could feel the cold ice at the back of his neck, but he can feel more than that - he can feel the heat in his small room, the sweat sticking to his skin and dripping down his temple. He can feel the cold air, and he can feel his ragged breaths, he can feel the spurs trees between his fingers and he can feel the bed beneath him.

Mark takes in a harsh gasp, the images in his mind fracturing like a pebble to glass. He looks down at his hand and sees them shift, the image of them blurring, tanned damp hands quickly morphing and twisting into hands with fingertips drenched in grey. A tiny whimper escapes his lips and he quickly huddles himself into a ball.

A soft buzzing sound hums deeply within the covers of Mark’s bed and suddenly the room is illuminated with a bright blue light. Mark looks up from his arms and reaches out for his phone, staring at the caller ID for a long moment before he finally decides to pick up.

“ _Hello?_ ” His voice is thick and hoarse, and he only barely manages to hold back the cracks.

“ _Mark? Is it late, should I call in a couple of hours?_ ” His sister’s voice is light and soft, calming under the pressure of the darkness.

“ _No, it’s fine, is something up?_ ”

“ _No, not really... I just suddenly thought of you, are you okay?_ ” Mark almost smiles to himself, Erica always had this sort of wiring that connected her to Mark, as if she could always sense the distressing signal Mark omitted when he felt like his ribs were caving in on themselves.

“ _I’m fine, Erica._ ”

“ _You don’t sound fine,_ ” Erica replies, that older sister authoritative voice didn’t hide the worry that swam between her words. Mark could hear it like a siren. “ _You know you can always talk to me._ ”

Mark bites his lip.

She takes a deep breath then, Mark thinks he hears a tremble in it. “ _Is it...the memories?_ ”

Mark let’s out a shaky laugh, “ _How do you always do that? How do you always know?_ ”

“ _I basically raised you on my own, you know...you always had nightmares, even when you wouldn’t make a sound, I could always tell._ ” Erica’s voice cracks then too, and Mark closes his eyes, trying to imagine her long, thick hair, the ends a static mess from a lack of a trim and constant dying. Her bright brown eyes that could look through you, like your chest were cut open for only her to see. “ _Have they come back?_ ”

“ _They never left,_ ” Mark replies, opening his eyes and looking down at his open palm. “ _I just learnt not to think about them._ ”

“ _And now you’re thinking about them?_ ”

Mark nods, and he knows Erica can see it somehow. “ _There’s a person...who showed signs of xenoglossy,_ ” He continues. “ _He had memories too...at first I pitied him, you know? Someone so like me, and asking me for help, I couldn’t say no, but now...now they’re resurfacing and it hurts just as much as it did the first time._ ”

" _You want to help him?"_

 _" Yes, but I'm scared." _He whimpers lowly, so low he wonders if she even heard it. 

There’s a heavy silence.

“ _Close your eyes, Mark, _”__ She demands, and he follows. _ _“ _And forget about the world, forget about who you are, forget who you were, forget everything. Think about nothing, or think about everything, think about the sky, think about the sea, think about the universe even, float away and lose yourself. And when you decide to come back, think of no one but yourself, remember you owe no one anything. If this hurts, stop it, because two people hurting won’t do the world any good, so you can run, Mark, run and don’t look back._ ”__

 

*

 

“Mark, are you sure?” Youngjae says after taking his shot of espresso. Mark grimaces, the sweat beading on his forehead, wondering how Youngjae could possibly be wearing a jumper and taking down hot coffee like it wasn’t 29°C out. Mark sat opposite him, under the cafe’s air conditioner, seriously considering taking a new profession in being a permanent puddle for the summer.

“I’m sorry, Youngjae, but I really can’t,” Mark sighs, his lips pursed thinly. He’d thought long and hard about it. Youngjae was not happy.

“I just don’t understand, is it because he’s too much to handle? Or are you scared?” Youngjae grumbles, his eyebrows lifting up above his round glasses.

“No...look, I’m thinking about going back to America earlier than expected,” Mark says, his fingers rimming the opening in his water bottle. “My younger sister is opening up a new publishing company and she wants my help, just to start off, and honestly I’ve gotten a bit tired of lecturing.”

Youngjae’s face contorts into a mix of dissatisfaction and disappointed, two things Mark hated seeing the most. “Are you sure? Jinyoung...will be upset,” Youngjae says lowly, his lips drooping further into a frown as he tugs on his ear lobe.

Mark inwardly winces at the mention of Jinyoung, among other things, he’d been actively trying not to think about him. “He will, but he’ll get over it, we weren’t that close, so it’s better we cut it off now than later.”

“Is there really no other reason?” Youngjae presses, his eyes searching for something as if the answers were written upon Mark’s face.

“There really isn’t,” Mark murmurs, lowering his eyes, today he didn’t feel very confident in lying.

Youngjae takes one deep breath and then settles back into his seat, “I guess I can’t do anything about it.” He says and turns to look out the window. “I just hope you don’t regret this.”

Mark looks up and remembers the first session he had with Jinyoung not too long ago in this same cafe. His small frame hiding within the shadows of his hood, his shaking fingers coated in graphite, the colourless look in his eyes, the fear in his voice. His chest ached, ached for so many things, for a life so long gone, for a boy he could nothing for, for an emptiness he could never fill.

But ultimately, Mark knew he could do nothing, there was no answer, no cure, no help for what was happening to Jinyoung, what happened to Mark. It was something you had to live with, a nightmare that never ended.

You can’t revive the dead, so you remember them, and you regret.

 

*

 

Mark sits in his office staring blanking at his computer screen. It’s a fairly large room; with tall shelves of books, bordering along the walls, the rich red of their wood darkening the room against the bright yellow light that hung directly in the centre of the room. At the back, settled just before the large window, is his desk, cluttered with assignments, half-marked, half-ignored, and a series of different fountain pens. He wasn’t collecting, it’s just that for some reason people think Professors can only ever be gifted a fountain pen.

He didn’t like sitting in his office much, not that it wasn’t nice, but that there was something incredibly daunting about the two constantly empty seats in front of him. There was rarely a need for people to visit him, in fact, there really wasn’t a need for him to even have an office. The sofa can be a good bed sometimes though.

A ding from his computer jolts him upright and he gives a little swivel of his seat, darting his eyes across the room until he see’s a new unread message in his email inbox. He squints closely, eyeing the email id: 040927. The email didn’t have a subject matter, just an attachment symbol right beside it. Mark’s about to click on it when the door to his office knocks and his attention is instantly averted.

“Come in,” He calls.

The large wooden door creaks slowly, it looks even bigger when Mihyun pops her small head through the opening, her long blonde hair curtaining down her shoulder. “Professor,” She smiles wide.

“Well if it isn’t my almost favourite student?” Mark smirks and puts out a hand, offering her one of two of the empty seats before him.

Mihyun’s smile drops into a scowl, “ _Almost favourite?_ ” She echoes. “Who is your favourite?”

“Kunpimook.”

“ _What!?_ ”

“He’s not a smartass you see,” Mark retorts as she slumps into the seat.

“He’s not very smart at all in fact,” She retorts, finely ignoring the warning look Mark shoots her.

“Well, did you need something? Or did you just want to grace me with your presence?”

Minhyun crosses her legs over and takes a finger to scratch the top of her head in thought, her lips are pressed together tightly, “I was just wondering...how Jinyoung is?”

Mark tilts his head and leans back into his chair, “Why would you ask me of all people?”

Mihyun blinks, “Uh, I kind of just thought you’d know? A bunch of us assumed you’d become his caretaker or something?”

Mark’s lip twitches at the word _caretaker_ and takes a hand to quickly brush through his hair, “I’m not his...caretaker.”

“Well okay, not caretaker but like...you know carer? Or I don’t know someone to watch him not implode-”

“Okay, I got it I got it,” Mark puts up a palm. “Yeah he’s fine, or at least the last time I checked. Is that why you came here? Just to ask how he is?”

“Not exactly…” Mihyun taps her thumbs together. “I wanted to tell you something...or ask you something, or both?”

“You playing riddles with me right now?”

“No, no, ugh-” Mihyun huffs in her seat and then quickly goes to sit up straight. “Okay, well, if I’m honest I’ve kind of been interested in Jinyoung for a while - _not_ like that- anyway, I wasn’t close to him before but we talked often, he seemed nice. And well, when he started curling into himself, I guess I was the first to notice it, everyone else thought he started doing drugs or that his assignments were just weighing on him. But he looked different, you know? Not like physically but like the way he held himself, like he was _someone else_. Everyone thought I was overdoing it, but then he started speaking languages, I even remember the first time he was told to come to the white board and he just kind of… _shifted_ and he just suddenly started writing Latin. Oh my god I had never seen Professor Jung so infuriated.”

“Are you going somewhere with this Mihyun?” Mark presses, there was an anxiety creeping up on him. The more Mihyun spoke, the more he realised that Jinyoung had exposed too much of himself.

“Yes, yes, look at first I didn’t know what to make of it, sure I had some doubt I was just over thinking the whole thing and he could be on drugs, but he was different,” She leans in close, her eyes glittering in a way predator would with it’s prey. “Everyone thought he was just some sort of genius who was trying to show off, but you see I had seen enough of his episodes to know that he doesn’t remember a single thing when he comes to. So _he_ doesn’t know the languages, but he can somehow speak them...so that means, there’s only one thing, xenoglossy! Right?”

Mark grimaces, “That’s a pretty big assumption to make.”

“Well I read a bunch of your thesis’ before signing up to your class, and there was one that really stood out to me, one about reincarnation, past-lives, all that voodoo,” Mark closes his eyes; _that god damn thesis._ “And well, again, yeah I wasn’t sure, I had my doubts but then the other day when he had an episode and was speaking in Japanese, he said something.”

“‘Save me’?”

Mihyun shakes her head, her lip twitching into a smirk. “He said something before that.”

Mark shifts then, his anxiety pushed aside by curiosity as he leans in towards his desk. Mihyun continues speaking, “I wasn’t sure at first but the more I thought about it, the more certain I heard right.”

“What did you hear?”

“He was calling out to someone, not anyone, but someone specific,” Mihyun licks her lips and wriggles in her seat. “He was calling out for his brother. That was when I was sure these weren’t just episodes of Jinyoung blurting out random words in different languages. He was actually thinking about others, he’s acting like another person, he’s calling out to people that don’t exist.”

“He could have a brother-”

“Uh uh, no he doesn’t, told me he was an only child,” Mihyun corrects. “So I figured it out, I’ll give you some credit for it though- Jinyoung’s episodes aren’t some mental instability, or I guess it could be, but anyway, they’re his past lives. Like he must remember other people, that lived in different places, different times, he’s reliving events and speaking in different languages. It has to be past lives! I’m one hundred percent sure!”

“You- you, you know how ridiculous you sound right?” The words were stuck in Mark’s throat, his head clogged with the same sentence; _this is bad, this is bad, this is bad._ Mihyun just looks at him with a tilt of her head. “What makes you think...reincarnation could even be possible?”

“What do you mean?” Mihyun replies. “Don’t you know?”

“What makes you think I would know?” He sputters back. “Let alone believe? Just because I wrote a thesis about it?”

“No, because I read that article about you,” Mihyun flatly states. “I thought that was why you, you know, took him under your wing or what not.”

“What article?”

Mihyun gives Mark a long calculated look before shrugging, her eyes passing over his shoulder and out towards the window. “I did a lot of research on you, you know? I’m kind of particular about who teaches me. It was just amongst many of the source links I was filing through, an article when you still lived in China, you were reported by a philosopher to show signs of xenoglossy at the age of eight.”

 _They’ll take you away_.

Mark lurches out of his seat then, startling Mihyun. “I need you to leave.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry Mihyun, but we’ll talk about this later,” Mark sternly says. Mihyun, looking reluctant, slowly gets out of the seat. “And Mihyun, don’t tell anyone what you just told me.”

Mihyun gives him a small nod and then turns around to leave.

Mark let’s out a harsh gasp, his heart had done a jolt and started at a frightening pace. Quickly, he yanks out a drawer from beside him where he grabs a bottle of pills and quickly pops two in his mouth. His grip tightens on the drawer for a moment, his head throbbing like a hundred hammers had taken their heads to him, and then he slumps back into his leather seat, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

This was the fourth time in two weeks he had to take his pills. The attacks were starting to come too often now, the fear clogging his throat growing thicker. Jinyoung’s face appears before his eyelids then, his red eyes and his graphite fingers, his eyes so dark you could fall into them. Then he hears his sister's words, _run, Mark,_ and knew it was what he was going to do, it was at most, the only he could genuinely say he was good at.

But there was something so incredibly heart wrenching at the idea that he was going to abandon someone so similar him. In all honesty he wanted to talk to him, to share stories. But stories were all they were, whether they are memories or not, whether the people they see were real or not, they would be nothing but stories now. Reminiscing upon lives long gone would bring nothing to the present, instead it’d just drag the two of them deeper into an abyss where reality becomes nothing but another fragment of your imagination.

So Mark was going to run, and this time, he wasn’t going to look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! so i made a tiny mistake on the previous chapter when i stated that barrick was twenty five, he isn't! ive edited and all, but just to be clear he is 20 in the "flashback" scenes! okay! hope you like it!


	6. take flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made the beginning of chapter one into it's separate chapter/prologue so the chapter numbers have shifted but yeah i posted one chapter! the recent 5/6th one. am i even making sense, whelp. hope you like it dsofjidsjf

The class has gone over by a good twenty minutes, and for once it was of no fault of Mark’s, kind of. Evidently when you’re in a philosophy class discussing idea’s purely based on theorization and little scientifical facts, arguments can happen, a lot of arguments can happen. Today the class was in a uproar about the _point_ of dreams which ultimately was ironically a rather pointless discussion, because as a matter of fact, there really isn’t a point to anything. Existence, for example.

However, as it is for some people, accepting that some things just _are_ was a harder fact to accept. So here they are, arguing about whether dreams could be another realm or reality as it were, or if they were simply just the brain reordering memories during sleep, among other theories. No one has particularly gone any further in building already existing theories, and Mark can’t say he’s much in the mood to partake today.

“How can you even think it’s possible for you to teleport into another world while you sleep? Your body is here,” Some nasally kid from the front shouts back up at Kunpimook who looks like he’s ready to pounce and attack.

“Hey, since when was reality based on the physicality of things? You think this place is real? Don’t you also think your dream is real when you’re in it?” He retorts with a jab of his finger.

“But we wake up-”

“Like I said! You don’t know you’re dreaming now, you can’t prove this world is real just by saying _’oh, I can touch this_ ,” Kunpimook makes a face and everyone sniggers, the nasally kid makes an offended face and puffs up his cheeks.

“Now, you’re just sounding like the professor,” He spits and swivels round in his seat to stare hard at the blank white board.

“Hey, hey, I do not sound that annoying,” Mark mutters but his words are lost now that someone else has taken the torch from the nasally kid, sputtering something about how science works differently in both realms, and how your memories are more intact in “this world”.

Mark is a couple seconds away from blanking out, but in all honesty he could understand the fiery passion they fought with for answers, or for some sort of sense that they were as close to the truth as they could be. If there was a truth.

Unfortunately, humans are plagued with a conscience that constantly asks for something; for reasons, for needs, for meaning. Telling them there is no point, telling them that things just happen by chance is like telling a religious believer that God isn’t real. Mark doesn’t believe in fate, but he doesn’t believe in coincidences either, instead he settles within himself that some answers are better left unfound. Sometimes ignorance can very much be a bliss.

Kunpimook let’s out a frustrating sound and Mihyun takes it as a que to slip in. “You can’t really say science is the anchor for discerning which is reality and which isn’t? I mean if there are different worlds, then we can’t use our belief or findings of science in this world and project it onto another. That world probably works differently.”

Mark stares up at Mihyun from the squeaky plastic chair he’s propped himself on, his feet up on the podium. Mihyun was always a bright student, she stood out in his class, but she was also frighteningly open minded. She never let things like science and facts hold her back, she was always ready for an infinite amount of possibilities, even if they were closer to what most people believe to be fiction. Maybe that’s why it was her of all people to decipher what was going on with Jinyoung faster than anyone else.

Where other people would try to give “logical” reasons for things they did not understand, Mihyun instead gave into the illogical. She trusted in herself, and the idea that there is way more to the world than the eye can see. No one could hold her back, and it was proving to be a problem.

Although Mark had managed to avoid bringing up the topic they had discussed prior, there was only a limited amount of time before she lost her patience.

Someone just spewed a series of curses and Mark’s about to intervene but the sound of a door slamming silences the entire lecture hall instantly. All fifty pair of eyes shift towards the far corner of the hall where the double doors swing violently, through them emerges a bent, hooded figure. Mark instantly recognises the grey of his clothes, the tattered sleeves and the dark aura that seems to protrude from him.

Jinyoung looks up and around, like he’s forgotten where he is, why he’s here. Then he drags his eyes, deep black eyes that dig into Mark like they were trying to swallow him whole. He moves slowly or quickly, Mark can’t tell, it’s almost like he’s ghosting down the steps and suddenly he’s right in front of Mark.

Closer now, Mark can see the red rings under his eyes, like he’s spent hours rubbing at them, clawing at them. Something in Mark’s chest shivers and cracks a fraction, and he opens his mouth to speak? To breathe? Either way nothing comes out. Instead Jinyoung shifts out of his hood to look up at him, to _really_ look at him, and Mark realises Jinyoung has never been more _here_ than now.

“You lied,” The words come out of him like they burn, his voice thick and hoarse. “You said you’d help me.”

Mark takes a step forward and whispers, “Jinyoung-”

“I...trusted you,” Jinyoung seethes, Mark can almost taste the anger in the air. “You let me trust you.”

Mark frowns at that, “I told you not to.”

Something in Jinyoung’s eyes flicker then, Mark can’t tell if it were pain or fury but he’d imagine it was somewhere between the two. “I told you everything- and what? You’re quitting? No, you’re leaving Korea?”

The murmurs in the classroom amplifies then like a conductor had risen his hands and demanded for the sound to be heard. Mark blinks away from Jinyoung’s burning eyes, his lips twisted with scorn. “We’ll talk about this somewhere else, Jinyoung.”

“No, I have nothing to say to you, Professor. It seems you already made your decision,” Jinyoung spits and the look on his face makes Mark wince like he just had venom threw at him. He latches onto Jinyoung’s arm as he turns and then looks up at the lecture hall.

“Everyone, leave, now.” His voice booms, echoing against the high ceiling. There’s a brief moment of silence until one person begins clattering, stuffing their pencils and books into their bag, and then the rest of them do, moving like a disconnected wave, they rise up and leave slowly.

“Let go of me,” Jinyoung hisses but Mark’s grip just tightens.

“No, you came here, you stay.” Mark states flatly, leaning over Jinyoung with whatever few inches of measly height he has over him. Jinyoung’s arm was thin under Mark’s grip, he had managed to wrap his entire hand around his upper arm and dig his nails until he felt the bone.

A dull ache resounds in Mark’s chest. He hadn’t seen Jinyoung in nearly a week, and the last time he had he was smiling. Now it was evident from his sunken cheekbones, and protruding jaw that the past week was nothing close to relaxation.

Jinyoung looks him up and down, then back up at the class that has dwindled to the last ten. In another three minutes, there’s the echo of the door shutting and a deafening silence takes over.

“You can let go of me, I’m not going anywhere,” Jinyoung mutters, he’s looking down at the ground now, the flare of anger having puffed out. Mark stiffly unlocks his grip and Jinyoung’s arm dangles to his side like a dead fish.

“Are you really leaving?”

Mark takes a deep breath, having nowhere to start. “Yes…” He’d imagined this conversation to happen eventually, but not like this. “Jinyoung, I know this seems bad but-”

“Seems bad?” Jinyoung scoffs, his face almost hysterical as he brushes a hand through his hair. “Bad is going on a week without sleep, horrible is remembering what it’s like being in France in 1919, and the worst part is the stench of piss, and blood, and death while I sat in trenches having no idea when I’m going to be shot in the head or blown up into a million fucking tiny pieces.” He takes a deep breath, his eyes shimmering with tears. “I was scared, Professor, I was so scared. I could feel the damp ground beneath me, and I could hear the sound of the sirens but I still knew, I knew that I was going to come out of it eventually, I would...and I thought of you and I thought that when I come out of this I don’t have to cry alone and pretend what I just felt, and what I saw was just a figment of my imagination because someone is going to be there when I come back to talk to. Someone who would take me seriously and who would listen, and make me feel like I wasn’t losing my fucking mind. But what? Now I'm told you're leaving? Really?”

Mark closes his eyes, his heart thundering against his chest. “I’m so sorry…” He says quietly. “I wanted to tell you.”

“Are you afraid, Professor?” Jinyoung asks, his voice laced with ache.

“Yes,” Mark replies honestly. “But not of you.”

Jinyoung’s eyebrows twitch once but then he quickly smooths out the crease, “You don’t have to lie Professor. There’s nothing wrong with being afraid, to be honest, I thought you were taking it too well anyway.”

“Jinyoung, I’m serious,” Mark says. “I was meant to stay for another five months but I have things to do back in L.A.”

Jinyoung looks at him, like he was calculating whether or not to play along with the lie. “Did I do something? Did I say something that scared you? I talked a lot last time we met, did I say something I shouldn’t have said?”

“No, no, jesus, Jinyoung, I’m telling you it’s not your fault,” Mark takes a large step towards him, leaving just barely an inch between them. “It’s not your fault, you hear me?”

Jinyoung’s eyes go up the length of Mark’s jaw and then lands upon his eyes and something glitters for a fraction of a second before Jinyoung stomps it out. “ _It’s not you, it’s me._ Really, Professor? You’ve never broken up with someone before, have you?” 

Mark clenches and unclenches his fist by his side. He didn’t like this, he didn’t like this at all. The look on Jinyoung’s face was tugging at his insides and shredding them apart, leaving him breathless and clueless, and muddled. He didn’t know what to say except _I’ll stay_ , but he couldn’t stay. He shouldn’t stay.

There was something very wrong going on, something that should have stayed buried in Finland two hundred years ago, but it was unearthing itself by force and Mark didn’t want to be near Jinyoung when the skeletons walked. It isn’t a coincidence that Mark met Jinyoung, it shouldn’t even be possible to remember your past life, and yet Mark had met someone that remembered a life from the same time he did.

Mark chews at his lip until he tastes metal on his tongue. He wants to ask so many things; _who are you, where have you seen those drawings before, what’s your name, did we know each other?_ They rumble and claw at the insides of his chest and crawl up his throat, but Mark swallows them down.

There was a line, a very fine line between the present and the past, and Mark knew if he were to cross it, there was no going back for him. Everything he worked for, all the effort it took in putting the past behind him, into keeping his mind together like it wasn’t always constantly on the verge of collapsing.

“Tell me, did you really ever believe me, Professor?” Jinyoung murmurs, he has his hood back on and his hands in his sleeves. His whole body sags and he looks like he’s seconds away from just crumbling to the ground.

“I told you I believe you.”

Jinyoung looks up at him, a blank expression on his face. Mark can’t read what he’s thinking at all.

Jinyong sighs then and flutters his eyelashes like he just gave in to something. “Is there nothing I can say to make you stay?”

Mark rubs his palm down his face and tries so hard to lock back the raw emotions that were running through his veins, he wasn’t going to be able to hold himself up for much longer. “I’m sorry.” He chokes out eventually.

Jinyoung nods, and without another word, he turns and makes his way up the lecture hall. “Don’t-” Mark claps a hand against his mouth and bites onto his lip hard. Jinyoung swivels round.

“Did you say something?” Jinyoung’s voice is thin but so clear from the distance. It rings lightly in Mark’s ear as he shakes his head reluctantly. He doesn’t watch Jinyoung as he turns back, and only waits for the dreadful click of the door shutting.

Mark gasps, he let’s out the breath he was holding in and quickly crumbles to his knees. He tries so hard to keep himself together, but he can’t help but feel like he was the one that was being abandoned.

 

 

*

Night comes slowly, like it has a grudge. All Mark wants to do is to drown in the darkness and throw profanities at the moon, but it would seem not even the sky was his friend today.

He’s sprawled out onto the bluebird bench, very aware of the insects crawling on his skin and digging their way under his shirt. He doesn’t care, in fact, he wonders with hope if the vines would grow around him too, tightening him down and turning him to stone so he’d never have to feel another damned thing again.

He’s not sure what makes him hope though, if the sky wasn’t his friend, then the ground would most certainly not be either.

“What are you doing, Mark?” Insook squawks from the front door.

“Brooding.”

“Your brooding is crushing my bluebird vines.”

“The bluebird vines are crushing your bench.” Mark retorts.

“The bench is holding them up.”

“And it’s holding me up too.”

Insook takes in a sharp breath to finalise the conversation. Mark smiles to himself, at least he won something today.

There’s the sound of water rushing then and from above Mark see’s droplets of water glisten and crystallise in the air as the sun hits them. He think’s it’s quite beautiful until it hits him in the face. He screeches and flops flat down onto the pebble path, “Oh my god, my rib.” He groans and then flicks his head up to glare up at the old woman at the front door, Insook has a water hose in her hand and unamused expression on her face.

“Go inside, or stay, either way I need to water these plants,” She tuts, whipping at the hose once with a threat. Mark jolts upright and stalks his way into the house, then he pauses just a step into the hallway.

“Ahjumma, I’m moving out.”

She pops her head in at that, “What? Just because I sprayed you with some water?”

Mark rolls his eyes and looks over his shoulder, “No, of course not, I’ve got family stuff in America and I need to leave as soon as I can.”

“Your contract says a year…” Insook mumbles.

Mark closes his eyes, _not today._ “Contracts can be be broken. We’ll talk about it later.”

Nothing more is said between them, and Mark makes his way upstairs, taking two steps at a time. The hallway goes on forever, no matter how long Mark has lived here he still cannot fathom just how large this house is. There were a good three extra spare rooms, and two bathrooms upstairs, not including the one downstairs. The idea of leaving Insook in this house alone again makes him weak, but it wasn’t like she couldn’t get other’s to rent out the rooms? It was close to the university, and she let out the rooms rather cheaply. He knew she didn’t need the money, she just wanted the company.

Mark rubs at his chest, just above where he injured his rib several weeks ago, and wonders if the ache was physical or mental. He gathers it’s probably both as he makes his way to the end of the hall.

His room is the smallest of all of them, he hand-picked it himself. Insook almost killed him, of all the rooms that had wonderfully bedded double beds and large closets that pillared the ceilings, she could not fathom why Mark had decided to move into an old storage room. Mark almost laughed straight in her face, because his small room could fit a single bed, a chest of drawers and a desk with enough walking space, it even had two windows. At least now Mark knows that to judge someone on their wealth, you must first look at the size of their storage room.

She fought him about it for weeks, even when he finally unearthed everything from the depths of his boxes and basically made his territory by snapping one of the desk’s legs, she insisted on him moving rooms. He understood, the room’s wallpaper was withering at their corners and the flooring was printed with cracks, the insulation in the room was ridiculous, he was pretty sure the windows weren’t even double-glazed. Even as a storage room, this space wasn’t adequate for keeping items pristine.

But Mark liked it, he felt safe in it, it felt like a home he’d only ever dreamed about. It also kept the demons at bay, most of the time. There was just something about large rooms that made Mark uncomfortable, maybe even a little frightened, like there was too many shadows and space for things to hide in, for his thoughts to run around in and morph into ugly, twisted things.

So he settles on his squeaky mattress, having traded the four blankets he’d hoarded during early spring for a thin cover now, and smiles to himself, feeling a little tinge of loneliness. He’d miss this space, especially when he were to move back in with his parents, and greet his old room filled with ghosts again.

He wonders if he should get Erica to look for an apartment, after all, it was going to take him a week or two to wrap everything up here in Seoul before he could make the shift back.

Mark looks up to his side and squints a little at the sunlight poking through the glass of his window. The sun was still bright up in the sky but settling into the horizon now, twilight quickly trickling in from the corners of the universe. An image flickers before him, a watercolour painting of a river dyed in soft colours of pink and purple, the sun just a budding flower in the distance. Mark takes a deep breath and a places a palm over his heart as he tries to hold onto the image, but it fizzes and scratches like an old satellite television with no connection and suddenly it’s gone.

There’s a soft hum coming from a distance, Insook’s melody drifts through the quiet house. Mark eventually leans down into his pillows and flutters his eyes shut, he matches his breathing with the slow tune filling the empty spaces of the house.

Eventually sleep takes him, and Mark dreams of the moon falling from the sky.

 

 

*

  
Dear Barrick,

_How are you, my dear? I miss you terribly, and so does your sister. She plays only sad tunes on her violin during this time of the year. Your birthday’s come up, you must have forgotten, haven’t you? My beautiful son, you’re turning twenty one and all I remember is a young fimble boy who looked so brittle even the wind could break him._

_I know I have asked this of you so many times, and I know how you will answer, but your poor Mother still hopes - will you not visit us? I was absolutely delighted to hear you’d be participating in the bridge works for Turku, but is there no way for you to take a short break and visit your family?_

_Your name has reached the depths of Finland, god bless Mr Bassi for taking care of you, but you have not forgotten who your parents are, have you? It’s a cruel question, but I cannot help but feel lonely thinking about you. My only son, and I could not watch you grow into the man you’ve become, the man I have only heard from gossip and read from your letters._

_I reread your letters often, your handwriting has changed so much. I’d imagine your sketches have as well. Please, if anything, the next time you write please send us a new piece so we may frame it, and look upon it often._

_I pray for your health, and hope every day to see your face soon. I love you, my boy._

_Love your Mother, Aada Miika Nieminen.  
_

 

 

*

When Mark wakes up, the room is shaking- no, his head is shaking. Something is vibrating viciously from beneath his pillow, and it takes him a couple of seconds to realise that it’s his phone. He groans internally, ready to curse his sister - Erica always forgot that time zones were in fact a thing.

He digs it out from beneath his head and squints as the bright light that momentarily blinds him. It’s not Erica, it’s just an unknown number and Mark heavily contemplates hanging up but something tugs at his thumb to answer it.

“Hello?” He groggily says, licking his teeth, the inside of his mouth dry. “Who is this?”

“-sor?” A voice cuts in and out. “Professor?”

Mark narrows his eyes up at the ceiling and tries to regain some form of consciousness. “Who is this?” He repeats, rubbing at his eyes.

“Professor? Hello?” The voice is husky, and light, and it takes Mark a while to realise it belongs to a female. “Professor Tuan? Please, answer me.” The panic sound in her voice is what jolts him up.

“Mihyun? Is that you?”

“Professor? Oh, thank god you’re awake,” Mihyun sighs. There’s the sound of fast footsteps and her heavy breath.

“Mihyun? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“Kind of, maybe, I’m not sure.” She replies. “Professor, I think you need to come. I was coming back with some friends after we went out clubbing and I saw Jinyoung, he was acting kind of weird. Like how I was saying weird-” She pauses, her breath heavy. “And I followed him for a bit and it doesn’t seem like he has a destination but...Professor- jesus why does he walk so fast?- Professor, he’s heading towards the bridge and I really don’t know if I want to wait and find out what’s going to happen.”

The moment Mihyun mentioned Jinyoung’s name Mark was already slipping on a pair of jogging bottoms and some sneakers. He doesn’t even give his crooked mirror a glance as he grabs his keys and wallet from the desk and makes his way as quickly and quietly out the door.

“Mihyun, stay on the line with me,” Mark says, shutting the front door behind him. “Where exactly are you, right now?”

“There’s a small bridge by the dorms, you’d have to cross it everyday you come to the university,” She huffs, her footsteps now picking up their pace.

“I got it. What’s Jinyoung doing right now?” Mark asks as he runs down the small road. There wasn’t any space here for him to park his car so he always had it just at the end of the street, round a corner.

“Nothing, he’s just walking, and mumbling, I think but I’m not close enough to tell.” Mihyun says. “You know what they say about not disrupting people when they sleep walk? I don’t know if I should just slam into him and wake him up, or just let him go. But does recounting your past lives count as sleep walking, I mean would I even be able to wake him up? Is he even asleep? Oh my god, what if one of the ghosts in him suddenly finds an interest in the edge of the bridge? Professor, please hurry.”

Mark trips a little as he unlocks his car and basically slams into his door, wrenching it open. He doesn’t even put his seat belt on before he turns the ignition on and starts swerving down the road. He’s got the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he speaks, “Look Mihyun calm down. First of all he’s got no ghosts in him, second of all I need you to start calling out to him, just call out his name and reassure him who you are. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Okay, I got it.”

There’s the beep of the line cutting and Mark let’s his phone tumble down his chest and onto the floor as he makes a harsh swerve to the left and speeds down the empty roads. It is incredibly dark out, the moon eclipsed by a herd of clouds, the street lights here barely speckling a path before him.

At the speed he was going at Mark gets to the bridge in less than five minutes. He spots them immediately, the bridge is deserted, not a single car or another person in sight.

His heart almost jumps into his throat as he watches Jinyoung’s hooded frame climb up the railing on the side of the bridge, swinging one leg over the edge and trying to get the other round but Mihyun stubbornly clings to him, screaming something out.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Mark spits under his breath, his hand shaking as he goes to the car handle and slams it open. He’s sprinting across the road, pushing his thighs as hard and as fast as they can go. He suddenly remembers Jinyoung on the road, his jacket loose on his shoulders, his shoulder bag hanging below hips. Mark was just having an innocent lunch when he had heard the car honks and the screams, Jinyoung almost blind just walking straight into the road.

_He could have died, he is going to die._

“Jinyoung! Jinyoung, please, wake up.” Mihyun cries, her nails dug so deep into his clothes rips were forming, growing larger with every tug either of them made. “Jinyoung, I beg you. Wake up!”

“Mihyun, move!” Mark shouts and Mihyun swivels her head round, her eyes wide as Mark charges towards the two of them. She drops quickly, and for a brief moment Jinyoung looks like he is ready to take flight, to swing over the bridge and let the air take him but Mark already has his arms around his waist, and with one violent lunge, the two swing back from the edge and slam down into the bridge floor.

There’s a choking sound, Mark can’t tell if it’s him making it or Jinyoung. The world is spinning, the moon behind the clouds glowing brightly, the water rushing beneath them loud in Mark’s ears. The pain in his chest amplifies with every breath he takes in and Mark’s now pretty sure he’s making the choking sounds.

“P-Professor? J-Jinyoung?” Mihyun’s voice is distant, broken in Mark’s ears. “Are you guys okay?” She pops her head just above them, her long blonde hair curtaining the three of them.

Someone else groans then, and shifts and suddenly Mark can breathe again. Jinyoung get’s up from above him, his palm to his head. “Oh, thank you god, thank god, holy shit-” She gasps, helping Jinyoung to sit straight. Mark follows, slowly, a twinge of pain running up his chest. “Oh my god, Jinyoung, I’m going to kill you. I swear to god.”

“Please don’t- would defeat the whole purpose of saving him,” Mark moans, shuffling up. From beside him Jinyoung mumbles to himself.

“What happened?” Jinyoung murmurs, blinking furiously as if he just woke up from a deep slumber.

“You happened!” Mihyun snaps, her lips twisted into a frown. “You just started mumbling things and almost flew off the fucking bridge!”

“What?” Jinyoung gasps low, and then swivels his head around, taking in the night sky and the bridge. “Oh my god, you’re kidding me.” He then turns to Mark and his face drops into a storm of worry, confusion, and something else. Something Mark hadn’t seen on Jinyoung’s face before.

“Are you okay, Professor?” Mihyun asks, and Jinyoung bites his lip.

Mark looks between the two of them and nods. “I’m fine, I’m fine. We all good?” They nod and all get up on their feet. As Mark does, he feels a pain shoot down his left shoulder. “Shit.”

“W-what- what is it?” Jinyoung panicky asks, his hands flying up as if to do a thorough check of Mark’s body.

“It’s fine...it’s just- can any of you drive?”

 

 

*

“I can’t believe you own a car,” Mihyun snorts, buckling in her seat belt

“Why is that funny?” Mark narrows his eyes at her as he closes the passenger side door.

“I don’t know,” Mihyun shrugs, checking all the lights on the car. The engine had been running the whole time. “You just seem like a bike type of person.”

It’s Mark’s turn to snort, “A bike? In this weather?”

Mihyun gives him a side look and shakes her head, her usual small smile back on her lips. As she adjusts her seat, Mark turns to look over his shoulder to peer at Jinyoung who is sitting in the back, huddled into a ball. Mark wants to ask if he’s okay for the hundredth time but he gets the feeling that Jinyoung is no longer in an open, talking mood. Not that he was before.

They make their way back to Insook’s house quietly, nothing but brief directions from Mark. Mihyun parks horribly, having almost hit the car behind them twice despite the fact the side of the road had more than enough space for three cars. They eventually unbuckle and get out, Mark struggles a little as he tries to use his right hand to open the door from his left and he’s almost got it but then the door swings open and Jinyoung is standing in the opening, staring down at Mark with a small frown.

“Oh thank you,” Mark mumbles and hops out the car.

The two of them follow behind Mark as they make their way down the road. In the very distance, Mark see’s the very faint beginnings of light coming off the brick houses all huddled together. He wasn’t really aware of what the time it was this whole time, but he guesses now it’s close to four in the morning.

He looks over his shoulder to find Jinyoung trudging, dragging his feet behind him, his hands stuffed into his bottoms, while Mihyun shoots him worried looks now and again. “You guys have to be quiet, okay?” Mark says as they come up to the house. “I live with my landlord, she’s an old lady, scary-looking but don’t worry, she won-”

“Who are you calling scary-looking?” Insook’s voice rumbles from the front garden and Mark almost jumps out of his skin.

“Mother-” He squeaks. “Ahjumma? What are you doing up so early?”

“What? Don’t tell me you thought you were being quiet when you left the house just now?” Insook deadpans, her face unpleasant, her wrinkles looking as if they’d form into monsters any second now and bite their way into Mark.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Mark mumbles, turning the wooden gate in.

She ignores him and looks over his shoulder, her eyes softening. “Did something happen?”

Mark follows her eyes, “Something, I guess. They’re my students, can they stay just until tomorrow?”

“Of course, it’s not like I don’t have rooms collecting dust upstairs,” She replies and turns into the house, tightening the robe she has wrapped around herself. The three of them follow her inside and head into the kitchen.

“Guys, introduce yourselves.”

Mihyun quickly pops up from behind Mark and offers Insook a large smile, “Good evening...or good morning? Uhm, I’m Mihyun, it’s nice to meet you.” She bows slightly.

Jinyoung does the same, simply giving his name. Mark notices he’s dug himself deeper into his hood. Insook nods back, not very affected by Jinyoung’s aloof manner.

“Would you like some tea?” Insook offers politely.

“I think they should just go get some rest, they’ll both go back to their dorm rooms when they wake up tomorrow. Thanks for getting me here Mihyun.” Mark smiles, ruffling at the young girl’s hair.

“Anything for you professor,” She says with a wink.

“You need to get a check up,” Jinyoung says, the most words he’s said since he got into the car. “You hurt your arm, and I think you’ve hurt your chest too.”

“I’m fine, really, all good-” Mark trying to reassure him but without realising Insook has already strided her way towards Mark and lifted his shirt up. The look on Jinyoung’s face twists from feint concern to an outright look of guilt and worry. Mark looks down at his chest, and grimaces, even in the dull light of the kitchen you could see the first bloom of a large bruise erupting on his skin. “Well, maybe not all good.”

“We need to get you to a hospital, oh my god, didn’t you fracture your rib a couple of weeks ago too?” Mihyun squeaks and Mark groans internally.

If Jinyoung was blaming himself before, now he’s ready to jump into a pit of fire.

“No, no hospitals, it’s not that bad, believe me I wouldn’t even be walking if it was fractured again,” Mark attempts in reassuring them but the devastated look on Jinyoung’s face doesn’t ease up. "Okay, let’s just all go to bed and I’ll call the nurse in the morning, okay? Deal?”

Mihyun gives a reluctant nod and Insook does nothing but eye him suspiciously. Jinyoung simply just bows his head deeper into his chest.

He leads the two of them upstairs, whilst Insook started boiling some water, it didn’t look like she was going back to bed.

“This is Ahjumma’s room,” Mark says pointing to the first door on the right from the stairs. “The three up are basically furnished and free, and the last one at the end to the left is mine, okay? Come to me if you need anything because I can’t promise Ahjumma will be nice.”

“Any is okay?” Mihyun bounces on the balls of her feet. Mark nods. “I’ll just take this one then. Good night.” She says, laying a hand on the handle just opposite Insook’s room. She gives the two of them one last smile, and Jinyoung a brief look of worry before heading into the room and shutting the door behind her.

“There’s not much of a difference between them, they both got double beds so you can just head into any of them, okay?” Mark says and he thinks Jinyoung really isn’t going to answer but then he looks up at Mark, a crease between his eyebrows.

“Professor, are you sure you alright?” He asks, his voice deep. The hallway light isn’t on, barely enough light comes from the kitchen downstairs and Mark really can’t read his expression. So instead he places a reassuring palm to the top of Jinyoung’s hooded head and smiles.

“I’m fine, Jinyoung, really,” Mark says. “If it doesn’t ease up in the morning then I’ll head straight to the nurse, okay?”

Jinyoung chews his lip and eventually gives the professor a reluctant nod, “Goodnight.” He says finally before heading into the next room.

Mark stares down the dark hallway for a long moment, there’s nothing but the boiling kettle whistling through the house. He starts to head to the end of the hall, where his room is colder than he would have liked. It wasn’t like he was going to sleep now, all his nerves were still buzzing, his heart still drumming in his chest. The image of Jinyoung dropping off the edge of the bridge kept replaying in his mind, even if he got there in time, the thought still rolled around in his head. He’d saved him twice now, but who was going to save him the third time?

With the curtains having been left open, the sky was a perfect portrait on the wall; the clouds had cleared up and the moon hung up in sky brightly, making a pool of light in the middle of his room. Mark stood on the edge of it, eyeing the white light with a tired expression.

His phone blinks on his desk, a red light for an email. Mark looks at it curiously wondering who could be emailing him at this time, he usually never got notifications for spam or newsletters. He hasn’t got anything better to do now anyway, so he takes a seat on his desk chair and opens up his laptop. The fan makes a tortured kind of sound, and puffs out dust as it begins to start up, which easily takes twenty minutes on it’s own.

After he finally manages to get it on, he opens his web browser, and logs into his email. Most of the unread pieces were just notifications from sites and newsletters, a couple of updates from the university and an unread email from his mother. The newest email he has however is from a familiar ID; 040927. Mark squints at the screen, he scrolls a little way down to find the previous email he had received from the sender.

He clicks on the first email he got, silently hoping it wasn’t a virus. There wasn’t even a sender name nor was there any subject line, just a single sentence:

_Have you forgotten…?_

Mark’s face contorts into confusion. “What?” He whispers to himself, and then scrolls down the email where the attachment, an image, takes it’s sweet time in loading. For some reason, Mark’s palms begin to feel warm with sweat and the quick pace of his heart was going at speeds. He almost stops breathing when he see’s the image that loads; it’s a painting of a river, it’s deep dark waves flowing in the distance. Around it is the charred, destroyed buildings of homes, a cathedral, large buildings, their ashes sinking into the water. There’s smoke clogging the bright blue sky, the dwindling remains of what was once a great fire.

Mark’s heart rampages now, his breathing hitches, his hand shaking violently as he quickly goes back and opens up the next message. It was the same, same ID, no subject, no name, except this time, there was no picture, just a sentence:

_Have you forgotten, Barrick?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *vibrates* i was kinda excited to get this chapter out. i cnt believe ive written 31k, can you tell how excited i am for this fic? anyway i hope you guys liked it! 
> 
> if you guys ever want to write out all your theories on whats going on please feel free!! i absolutely love reading them and it act helps me see if im giving enough or giving too little but ofc don't force yourself! you guys make me feel fluffy just reading my stuff, ill prob see you soon with an update if i keep going at this rate lool


	7. ruins

Mark’s leg bounces like he’s ready to just propel off the planet. He’s sitting on the dining table with a spoonful of rice suspended mid air, opting it out for chewing on his lip instead. He’s in a pair of jogging bottoms and a stretched out v-neck tshirt. He felt and looked like death. He hadn’t slept all night, he probably isn’t going to sleep all week if his brain keeps short circuiting the way it is right now. 

To begin with, several things went through his mind after Mark opened that email - of course the first question was _who the fuck?_ It took him about half an hour of closing, re-opening his laptop, rubbing his eyes, restarting the internet, closing, re-opening for him to realise that the email was an actual thing. Someone sent that, someone very real, and someone very now. 

Which made no sense, because no one knows about Mark. Not even his sister knows the details, he never told her specifics like the year or the place, or what his name was. Sure, there was that small article about his ‘symptoms of xenoglossy’ reported when he was small, but the internet wasn’t like how it is now, the article got lost, the rumours quickly dissipated, and since Mark refused to cooperate, the whole thing blew over without another word said. 

So his mind quickly ran to Jinyoung, and his feet, his feet literally flew on their own and the next thing Mark remembers is finding himself in the opening of the bedroom door where Jinyoung slept soundlessly underneath a heap of covers. He had stared at him for a good couple of minutes, as if he’d just metamorph into some creature all of a sudden. Evidently, he did not.

Eventually Mark made his way back to his room and settled into his desk chair again. His heart had quieted down and he was slowly overcome with numbness, a feeling he was very used to, but it came with a hint of hysteria this time because _who the fuck?_ He checked the time it was sent, just past 3:30am, around the moment Jinyoung found the inspiration to fly and almost dropped off the edge of the bridge.

There wasn’t anyone, not a single person Mark could think of. And somewhere at the back of his head he’s aware he also needs to worry about the contents of the email. But there was only so much the tapes keeping his tattered brain together could handle. 

“Professor, are you alright?” Mihyun’s worried voice rings bells in Mark’s head but his hand is stiff where it is and he feels like blinking now would just hurt. 

“Professor?” Jinyoung calls out, and his voice is so clear it was hard not to respond. 

“Yes, hello,” Mark mumbles, looking around the kitchen in a daze. 

“Wow…” Mihyun gapes, giving Jinyoung a wide eyed look as she shovels a spoonful of food into her mouth. 

“How’s your chest?” Jinyoung asks with a wave of his chopsticks, chopsticks he’s only used so far to pick at the bits of rice in his bowl. Jinyoung’s lips seem to be in a permanent frown this morning, Mark wants to say something about it but he can hardly get his hand to move to just put his spoon down. 

“Alright, I think- maybe, I haven’t really checked it.” Mark says, finally deciding that he’s too hungry right now to let the little mice in his head stop him from eating and brings the spoon to his mouth. “My arms alright though, the aches subsided a lot.” 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Mihyun asks from beside him, eyeing him up and down. 

“I didn’t. Couldn’t really sleep.”

“You look it…” Mihyun mumbles under her breath and turns away quickly.

He did look it. He could feel it. His hair is a static, hectic mess, somehow the long strands of his bangs were defying gravity this morning. He’d imagine his skin wasn’t looking so good and he could feel the bags below his eyes. He didn’t even bother showering or brushing his teeth before Insook squawked for them all to come downstairs for breakfast. 

“You look younger…” Jinyoung says off-handedly, picking at the spinach in front of him. 

“Are you saying I usually look old?” Mark deadpans. 

“No one forces you to wear suspenders and ugly sweater vests Professor,” Mihyun snorts. “You’re lucky you’re good looking otherwise nothing could save you.” 

“I wear them to look older,” Mark snaps. “First few months I was here, people mistook me for a student playing a joke.”

“I remember that,” Jinyoung says, his lip twitching slightly into a smile. Mark eyes him from across the table for a moment before slamming his chopsticks down. They both jump up and stare at him. 

“Are you going to continue to act like that?” Mark asks as he perches his leg up on his chair and places his arm over his knee. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“I am-”

“No, you aren’t. Ahjumma was up early because of us and even went out of her way to make food, and you’re not going to eat it?” Mark chastises. 

Jinyoung blinks down at the spread of food on the table and his untouched bowl of rice, a slight flush of pink blooming on his cheeks. Mark’s thinking about how that’s the most colour he’s seen on Jinyoung and stores that into his memory bank. He starts to eat, fast, almost as if a crater just suddenly opened up in his stomach.

“Aye...Professor,” Mihyun nudges him from the side. “You can’t act like that when you’re in jogging bottoms and look like you just put a fork in a socket.” 

Jinyoung chokes and luckily Mark’s already swallowed his food otherwise the table would have been coated with catastrophe. He turns slowly to look at Mihyun, who continues to eat innocently. 

“Don’t you have a class to be in?” Mark asks with a twirl of his hand. 

“I do, I do,” Mihyun responds, popping a piece of tofu into her mouth. “Mmmm…! This is so good, it’s been so long since I’ve had a home cooked meal. But anyway...when are we going to talk about it?” She asks, looking up at the two males with big eyes. 

“Talk about what?” 

Mihyun nods in Jinyoung’s direction, “Talk about Jinyoung...you know, yesterday? Unless you guys forgot he got like momentarily possessed and almost projected himself off the side of the bridge?” 

Mark groans inwardly. “Can we not le-”

“So like, what is it? Do you remember? Or is it like ghosts take over you? Can you talk to the dead?” With each syllable Mihyun leans closer and closer over the table, staring down at Jinyoung with unblinking eyes. 

Jinyoung raises one eyebrow and then looks at Mark, “She knows?” 

“Knows what? Know what?” She jumps. “Look I’ve got about ten theories I can pitch to you and you can lie, sure, but I’ll figure it out eventually you know.” 

Jinyoung stares at her and blinks and suddenly he shifts; he leans back into his chair, crosses his arms over his chest, and a smirk forms cleanly on his face. Mark realises now, watching him, that this is probably the _real_ Jinyoung; the one that isn’t plagued with death, and memories that don’t belong to him. Mark found it odd, that he could miss someone he never really met. 

“What makes you think I’ll just tell you?” Jinyoung taunts, his eyes glimmering with amusement. 

Mihyun drops into her chair and kicks her legs, “Because! Because...I’m curious.” 

“That was pathetic.”

“Shut up.” Mihyun grumbles. “Come on, tell me...tell me, tell me.”

“You already more or less figured it out,” Mark shrugs as he gets up from his chair and heads to the sink. 

“You mean…you actually remember your...past lives?” She says it in a whisper, her legs jumping up against the table. 

Jinyoung huffs and then looks over his shoulder to give Mark a look as he chugs down a cup of water. “You killed my fun, Professor.” 

“Oh my god!” Mihyun shrieks, jumping up from her seat. “You’re kidding, right? I was right? What the hell...you’re like a _reincarnation_?”

Jinyoung narrows his eyes at that, “We’re all technically reincarnated, we’re just not meant to remember.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Mihyun twirls once round her chair and then drops to her knees. “Oh my god, I can’t believe this. You guys are pulling my leg.” 

Mark stares down at her balled up form with a flat look, “You came to me spouting all these theories and now you don’t believe it?” 

“She figured it out all on her own?” Jinyoung scoffs. “Amazing. Took someone long enough.” 

Mark gives Jinyoung a quick whack to the back of his head as he makes his way back to his seat, “We don’t need people figuring it out, Jinyoung. One is enough...and besides she looks like she’s about to eat her arm off.” Mark notes with worry, watching Mihyun mumble to herself on the floor.

Jinyoung’s chopsticks clatter to the table and it’s Mark’s turn to jolt upright, “ _We_? Last time I checked professor you were leaving.” He says. “I mean, let’s just be honest...all of this would have been solved if I had just jumped off that bridge last night. You could continue your year here and by the time I was reborn all of you would be dead or about to die, give or take.” Jinyoung shrugs, getting up off his seat. 

Mark follows him with his eyes, “Don’t joke about stuff like that.” 

“Do I look like I find this funny?” Jinyoung retorts. Mark doesn’t say anything, and with that, Jinyoung turns on his heels, leaves the kitchen and heads upstairs. 

Mark bites on the inside of his cheek, an unfamiliar spark of anger flickering in his chest. 

“What just happened?” Mihyun whispers, blinking up at Mark from where she is crouched beside her chair. “Are you really leaving, Professor?” 

Mark groans into his hand, “Mihyun…”

“Yeah?”

“You need to look after him,” Mark says and looks down at her. “Seriously, when I go, he’ll have no one, he needs you.”

“Why me?”

“You’re special - in the you believe anything kind of way,” Mark says. 

She rolls her eyes at that and goes to sit back on her seat, “I don’t believe anything Professor. I believe things with reason - other people probably have ideas running around about him too, you know? But they won’t say it out loud, I mean with such a big philosophy course you don’t think anyone else knows what xenoglossy is? It won’t be long till word gets out of the university too, and yeah sure I can be with him and help him, I don’t mind. But I don’t have the power you have.”

“I don’t have power, Mihyun.” 

“Yes, you do. Your position in itself is already a step up from us,” Mihyun says thoughtfully. “You can protect him better than I could.”

Mark let’s her words sink in for a moment. She was right, if he were to leave, someone else was going to get assigned to Jinyoung and that someone else might not be nearly as open-minded or willing to help Jinyoung as much as he hopes they would. He puts his head in his hand and rubs at his temple, feeling a headache beginning to sprout. 

“Are you sure you can’t stay professor?” Mihyun asks. “I mean would it hurt just to finish the year here? Wait...what’s going to happen to our grades!?” 

Mark snorts and goes to give her forehead a flick, “You’d get another teacher, idiot. What you’ve done with me already counts towards your final grade so don’t worry.”

“But I like you teaching us,” Mihyun grumbles. “Every other lecturer has their head up their ass, they treat us like children. Even when we answer their questions they seem unhappy, like we’re not meant to actually _know_ anything until they teach it to us.” 

Mark sighs and lets his head hang back, “I can’t stay.”

“You can’t stay, or you won’t?” She asks.

Mark doesn’t respond.

*

Mark finally brushes his hair, and washes his face, but it doesn’t seem to make him feel any less dreadful. Droplets of water glide down his face and drip off his jaw as he looks up at himself in the mirror. He takes his hand and pinches at his cheeks, stretching the skin. It was a daily routine, some sort of act to ease his consciousness; _I’m here, this is real._ It wasn’t very foolproof but it was something.

He let’s his hair down today, his fringe long as it tickles his eyebrows. His dark brown hair looking auburn in the yellow light of the bathroom. The image in front of him shifts a fraction, the clear glass mirror exchanges itself for another, it’s frame chipped and it’s reflection a blur. Mark see’s blue eyes, they’re misted almost, grey circling them like a rain clouds over the sea. They look at him with thunder, and with a question; _what are you doing?_ Mark blinks furiously and doubles over the sink, he gasps heavily and looks quickly back into the mirror but he’s only greeted with his own brown eyes. 

“Why won’t you leave me alone?” Mark whispers under his breath and slowly crouches down to his knees. 

Sometimes Mark wishes that ghosts were real; ghosts could speak, ghosts were souls, ghosts were _here_. But memories, memories are nothing, nothing but puffs of smoke that drift in the air weightlessly, and if you were to try and grab them they’d just run through your fingers and disappear into oblivion. 

Mark thinks he can hear them talk sometimes, talk to him, they’re asking for something, for someone, for help. Maybe they’re asking for a second chance, maybe Mark is that second chance. He pushes that thought aside, he didn’t like the idea of being someone else’s redo. 

Mark was Mark, and no one else. This was his life. 

_What kind of life is it if you’re constantly running away?_ A voice whispers from the back of his mind. Mark shuts it out immediately and makes his way out of the bathroom without another thought. 

Just opposite the hallway is the room Jinyoung currently has himself hauled up in. Mark stands in front it for a while, staring at the handle as if he has a grudge against it. He doesn’t really think as he reaches out for the door and turns the knob, letting himself inside.

Jinyoung is sitting on the bed crossed legged, his back to the door. His bed is made, white sheets with flower embroideries circle around where Jinyoung is settled above them. His hoody is discarded on the vacant desk in the corner of the room and the curtains have been spread wide open, sunlight spilling into the room, dust dancing in the air and shimmering like glitter. 

Mark moves slowly into the room and shuts the door behind him. Jinyoung doesn't make any indication that he knows Mark is here. He sits very still, looking up at through the windows with distant eyes. 

“Are you here, Jinyoung?” Mark whispers, his voice so delicate as if the wrong sound or move could break the tranquility that had enveloped the room. 

“I’m here,” Jinyoung surprisingly replies. “I’m here.” 

“Were you remembering?” Mark asks as he goes to take a seat on the desk chair. 

“No, I was just thinking,” Jinyoung says, and then turns to look at Mark with a sort of sombre expression. He glows where he is, bathed in sunlight, his cheeks a bright peach colour and his eyes, although still, were filled with life. Something in Mark’s stomach knots up. 

“What were you thinking about?” Mark asks in a small voice.

“You.” 

“Me?”

Jinyoung nods, “I realised I was being childish.”

“About what?”

“About you leaving. Honestly, it’s not fair - you have no obligation to me. You were forced to help me out. I know you didn’t want to be around since the beginning, but still I guess I hoped you’d warm up to me. I know I warmed up to you...it’s been a long time since I talked to someone who wasn’t wary of me. And you believed me, I thought it was a blessing.” Jinyoung explains, his fingers tracing the embroidered stitches on the covers below him. “But it’s fine, it’ll work out. I’d rather have someone that wants to be around me, rather than force themselves.”

“I haven’t been forcing myself,” Mark says.

“Yes, you have.”

“You may not believe me Jinyoung but I really do care about you.” Jinyoung’s eyes flicker to him then. “As a student.” Mark adds quickly, illogically. _What other way was there?_ “I worry about you, last night...I was going to jump in after you if you actually flew off that bridge. You can’t die, Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung bites his lip and looks down, “Why not?”

“You just can’t,” Mark retorts. “This is your life. Don’t let people who have already died keep you away from living.” 

“Easier said than done,” Jinyoung huffs and flops back onto the bed. “Do you know what I was thinking about yesterday? When we were on the bridge?”

“No, neither Mihyun or I could make out what you were saying…”

Jinyoung closes his eyes and hums deep in his chest, “A desert, a wide endless desert, sand hills rising and dipping in the distance. It goes on forever, sort of like looking out onto the sea and never seeing where it ends. It was a sea of gold. The sun so hot, so high in the sky, there are no clouds there, there’s nothing there, nothing but me, the sky and the sand.” He opens his eyes then, a soft expression ecompasses his face and he looks almost blissful. “I’ve only seen this place twice now, and of all the memories, of all the people I’ve met, and the places I’ve been, I know I love this place the most. I miss it, like an ache that runs through my bones, it’s like it’s calling out to me. Like if I die, I’d be able to see it again.”

“Where is it?” Mark finds himself whispering. 

“I don’t know, it could be Africa, the Middle east, anywhere.” Jinyoung says thoughtfully. “It doesn’t matter though because I know it’s gone. The desert I see with the eyes I saw them with are gone.”

“Do you not feel lost there?” Mark says, looking down at his clasped hands.

“No...not really, besides…” Jinyoung turns his head to the side and gives Mark a very faint, but very warm smile. “You pull me out of it,” He whispers and the knot in Mark’s stomach tightens. “Back then when I walked into the road and yesterday, you pulled me out and saved me.”

Mark stares at his face; an expression filled with hope and peace, something he’d never seen on Jinyoung before. He feels his insides muddle and his brain rattle in his skull, confusion and fear bursting through his veins. He takes a deep breath, his throat closing up.

“Still...I won’t be there every time to save you,” Mark solemnly adds.

Jinyoung closes his eyes again and murmurs, “I know.”

*

Turku, _1827_

Barrick’s mornings usually started with the smell of fresh bread and the cries of seagulls. For the few rare nights he did sleep, he did not sleep for long. With a sun that did not set, it was hard to sleep in the summer with all the light spilling through his bare windows. Of course, he could opt for curtains but there was something incredibly aesthetically unpleasant about rags hanging off the wall to him.

He’s slipping on a pair of boots and buttoning up his tunic when a knock comes from the side of the house, the sound vibrating through the wooden panels. Barrick hopped to his window, his shoe laces still loose as he pulled up the handle with a deathly creak and shoved the window open enough to stick his head out of the crack. 

“ _Good morning Ms Nurmi,_ ” Barrick greeted warmly, his arms leaning against the frame. Ms Nurmi, an older woman, wearing a long beige dress and an apron wrapped around her slim waist leant over her porch and smiled back.

“ _Good morning Barrick, had a good sleep? Or were you busy painting the river again?_ ” She asked, a motherly tone woven into her voice. Hanna Nurmi was twenty two when Barrick first moved here, alone and a little lost, she’d taken him immediately under her wing and although she insisted on being considered as a big sister, she reminded Barrick more of his mother. 

“ _I had actually slept last night,_ ” Barrick replies, and she shoots back an unconvinced look. “ _Don’t give me that expression, please. It makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong._ ” He joked.

“ _Okay, okay, why don’t you just come over and have breakfast now?_ ” 

“ _On my way,_ ” He replied, watching Hanna as she turned on her heels and walked back into her house. 

It was a warm morning, enough for just a simple tunic and a pair of bottoms. He had eye’d his blazer for a moment but decided against it, he wasn’t meant to be anywhere today. His work on the Turku bridges was to begin tomorrow, dreadfully he’d be working alongside Carl Engel, but his excitement for his first project had bubbled over and washed away the bitterness temporarily. 

Barrick grabbed his keys and a few change, stuffing them into his pocket as he left through the front door. He gave the view from his porch a quick, appreciative glance; the sun was blinding today, setting fire to the Aura river, the slow tides lapping up like sparkling flames. With a quick deep breath of the fresh crisp air, Barrick hopped his way down onto the pebble path and gave a right turn to Hanna’s house. 

The scent of fresh bread grew stronger as he made his way closer, quickly dancing up the steps. His stomach made an anticipating noise, his dormant hunger suddenly sparking with life as he brushed his fingers through his hair and gave the door before him a quick rap. Barrick doesn’t wait for a response and instead makes his way into the house, only to be greeted with the shrill shrieks of infants. 

“ _Barrick!_ ” A pair of voices burst. Two children, around the age of four, stumble their way into the kitchen with outstretched arms and giddy smiles. Barrick beamed down at them as they jumped into his arms.

“ _Oof! You guys are getting a little too big now._ ” Barrick feigned struggle as he picked up either of the twins, each of them perched upon one arm and leant into his shoulder. Fredrik and Fanni both giggled mischievously at the other and turned quickly to press a kiss to Barrick cheeks. “ _Oh, who taught you that one._ ” 

“ _I did,_ ” Hanna said with an apologetic smile, poking a flat shovel into her brick stove and slid out a warm loaf of bread. “ _They were asking why I kissed them to sleep every night and I told them you do it for people you care about, but you can’t just do it to everyone. They only heard the first part._ ” 

Barrick laughed and settled the twins into the high chairs he had built just for them. It was one of his first successful piece of carpentry since becoming an apprentice under Charles Bassi. Even though Barrick was stubborn about building homes, bridges, buildings, and cathedrals, Mr Bassi had always one rule; _start small, and grow to be big._ So Barrick started small, and it wasn’t till he saw the look of happiness on Hanna’s face when he presented her the smooth, polished wooden chairs for her newly born twins, that he realised what it meant to really create something. Things were only _things_ until someone claimed them, until someone loved them, otherwise they were inanimate, lifeless objects - even wood can be given a heart. 

There’s a bittersweet feeling tickling at Barrick’s throat as he sat on one end of the table, staring at the children in their high chairs. At first they were too small for the seats, sliding down into the openings for their legs, now they were filling up the space with their chubby legs and plump bodies. 

Hanna placed the sliced up loaf of bread last onto the dining table, the steam still rolled off it’s crispy shell. Around it was a generous spread of smoked meats, cheeses and fruit. Be it breakfast, lunch, or dinner at the Nurmi house, it was always extravagant. Hanna was very passionate about making sure every meal she made would count. She once told Barrick that she had grew up in an Inn where her parents rarely had enough time to sit down with her for even a brief of moments, and she’d spend most of her dinner’s bring up a small plate of food to her room in the attic. She’d always wanted a family, valued togetherness, maybe that’s why she took so much care of Barrick, a fourteen year old boy who lived alone but for when his teacher was around, which was rarely. 

He can’t imagine, however, that she was very happy about the fact her husband, Iisakki Nurmi, wasn’t present for meals often. He worked as one of the Board of directors for the docks of Turku, part of the Seamen's Fishermen establishment which worked for improving Turku’s trading ports, and the development of Finland’s ships. When Turku had lost it’s title as Finland’s capital, there were revolts and anger, where some people would throw fits and do nothing but grumble in their bitterness, people like Iisakki instead turned their bolts of anger into passion. Groups formed, men and women came together; they’d make them regret, they’d make Turku great and make them regret. Turku would become the centre of Finland again, whether by title or not.

Barrick may not have felt the same sort of passion the rest of the population of Turku did, after all, he was always a small town boy at heart. But he shared their eagerness, their passion to build and to form something magnificent. He wanted to part of it all, and finally, he was going to get his chance. The bridges of Turku was just the beginning of what was to be many of his endeavours. 

“ _I do not think I’ve seen you so bright before, Barrick,_ ” Hanna chides from across the table, she has a curious glint to her eyes. “ _Have you finally met a girl?_ ” 

Barrick ripped a bite out from his piece of bread and shook his head, “ _You continue to ask me about a girl but when have I had the time to meet any, Ms Nermi?_ ”

Hanna’s scrutinized her face as if she had tasted something foul, “ _I wish you would stop calling me that, it makes me feel like some old maiden. Which by the way you will become soon, and then it’ll be too late to find a partner._ ”

“ _I am still young...Hanna…_ ” Her name felt awkward on his tongue but she looked pleased with it so he continued. “ _And besides, I still haven’t met anyone yet._ ”

“ _You have been here for nearly seven years now, and no one? Really, Barrick, not one girl?_ ” 

“ _I...am a gurl!”_ ” Finna sings from the side, a piece of ham between her small lips. Hanna gives her daughter a look as Barrick grinned and gave the child a quick rub on the head.

“ _There we have it, I shall just marry Finna,_ ” Barrick announced. “ _I’m sure you would not object?_ ”

“ _I would most certainly object,_ ” Hanna snapped, tapping her fork to the table. “ _As if I’d give my daughter to a would be old man._ ”

“ _You wound me, madam,_ ” Barrick joked, placing a piece of rich cheese onto his tongue and relished in the tingle that went up the side of his jaw. 

“ _You’re beginning to sound like Carl,_ ” Hanna shivered at the thought. “ _Was I fool to think after all these years he wouldn’t have an affect on you?_ ” She gasped then, placing a palm over her breast. “ _Do not tell me your lack of interest in women is because you’re interested in men?_ ”

Barrick almost spat out his mouthful of grapes and quickly looked up to glare at Hanna, “ _If I were to ever love a man, do you really believe I would make such a poor decision as to fall in love with Carl of all of them?_ ” 

Hanna snorted, making a choking sound behind her hand. “ _Poor Carl, and here I’m sure he’s been writing out his proposal for years now._ ” 

Barrick wanted nothing then but to swallow his whole weight worth in food and forget about the horrible conversation. But as he goes to reach for the jar of jam the sound of hooves clicking and the neigh of a horse distracts him, and the rest of them at the table. 

“ _Horse! Horse!_ ” Finna clapped excitedly from her seat. 

“ _It seems the post-boy has arrived, are you expecting anything?_ ” Hanna asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

“ _No, I’ve yet to reply to my mother’s letter._ ” Barrick said and then turned to look at Finna from beside him. “ _Would you like to see the horse?_ ” He kindly asked, stroking the little girls light brown hair. She nodded her head eagerly. 

Hanna rose from her chair and with her napkin she went to Fredrik, who had been eating silently, and wiped down his face, to then pick him up. Barrick mirrored her, except he left the piece of ham hanging out of Finna’s mouth and lifted her up with a little chuck. 

The four of them exit the house and peer just down below the hill where a horse stood tall at the end of the road which forked off to several neighbourhoods. A post-boy stood beside his companion digging into satchels of letters, catching names being thrown from the crowd that circled him. Hanna and Barrick took the children to the horses head where their small hands went to pat at the nose and where they shrieked in delight as it huffed back in response. They waited around patiently until the crowd lessened.

“ _Good morning Miss_ ,” The post-boy tipped his hat to Hanna and then shot a wide grin to Barrick. “ _And Barrick, it’s nice to see you again._ ” 

“ _Are you well, Markus?_ ” Barrick shook the younger man’s hand and tapped at his shoulder. Markus was just a year or two younger than Barrick, his hair made of copper curls and his eyes blue, as bright as the sky.

“ _As well as I could be, can’t say much for this young girl._ ” Markus said with a tap to the horse’s back. “ _You here for the mail, I take it?_ ”

“ _And to see your lovely face, Markus._ ” Hanna grinned playfully as Fredrik played with the curls of her hair. 

“ _You make me swoon, you know that Ms Nermi?_ ” Markus joked as he turned into his satchel. “ _Let’s see here...we have two letters for Mr Nermi….and one for Ms Nermi, what a popular couple._ ”

“ _Thank you very much, Markus,_ ” Hanna said with a tilt of her head. 

“ _Oh, and we have one for Mr Nieminen, here,_ ” Markus declared with a flick of his hand. Barrick double takes, he was already ready to turn and head back. He wasn’t expecting any letters. “ _And not the usual...seems you got an invitation, Mr Nieminen._ ” Markus eyed the envelop with curiosity as he handed it to Barrick.

Barrick cradled Finna with one hand and outstretched the other to take the invitation. The moment Barrick touched the fine paper he was filled with questions; it felt expensive, the envelope thick between his fingers. The front of it was bordered with a cursive gold pattern, his name etched into the middle with fine calligraphy. He turned it around in his hand, where a stamped candle wax kept it sealed. With the short fingernail of his thumb he flicked open the letter and spread it open to read. 

_Dear Mr Barrick Nieminen,_

_This is a formal invitation asking for your presence tomorrow night at the lady’s house, Henrikka Arseniy Zakrevskiy has specifically asked for your attendance. A dinner will be served, and it will be just you and the lady so do please dress appropriately. This invitation is not optional. A carriage will come to your home tomorrow to pick you up._

_The lady looks forward to seeing you._

Barrick blinks down at the invitation, astonished. Although the initial envelop held detail and delicacy, the message itself was brisk and authoritative, and rather berating to Barrick. He scoffed under his breath, flipping the piece of paper back and forth between his fingers as if it’d suddenly become a piece of trash.

“ _What is it? Is everything ok?_ ” Hanna asked from beside him. 

Barrick looked up at her and gave her a smile, “ _It would seem you do not have to worry about my lack of a lady presence no more._ ” 

“ _What? Have you been invited by someone?_ ” Confusion plagues her face.

Barrick wrinkled his nose and look down at the envelope once more, “ _Ordered, more like._ ”

*

Seoul, _2016_

Professor Jung’s office had this constant atmosphere of impending doom to it. There was something incredibly daunting about the piece’s of statues of Roman men in glass boxes lined down the length of the office. They were mostly sculptures of heads, and some small replicas of famous pieces, men and women twisted in odd positions. Mark could be overthinking it, but he’s pretty sure all of the vacant eyes are somehow boring holes into him.

That, or it could just be Professor Jung who sat behind her desk with a fiery look, an intent to kill in the flames of what made her pupils. She was not happy.

“I am not happy, Mr Tuan,” She says in an echo only Mark could hear. “Not happy at all.”

Not that Mark had ever seen her _happy_ , but even he had to admit that this was an exceptionally new level of not happy for Professor Jung. He can’t say he wasn’t expecting this conversation soon, he’d hoped however he could leave it till the day, the hour, the second before he had to run to the airport. 

“It was a last minute decision, Professor,” Mark says meekly, his hands clasped in front of him as he stood stiff in front of her ridiculously large desk. He was too scared to take a seat, and she hadn’t offered him one, so he stood there like a preschool boy looking ready to just piss his pants. 

“I’m still trying to figure out why it was even a decision at all?” Professor Jung huffs and leans back coolly into her large leather chair. “Is there something you're unsatisfied with Professor?”

“No, of course not, as you may have already heard,” _From the gossiping bastards of this school._ “I have family issues in America that need to be taken care of.”

“Can you not, then, simply take a short break? You are entitled to two weeks off Mr Tuan.” Professor Jung says, more like informs him with a tone as if he was some sort of imbecile that needed the letters spelt out for him.

He forces a smile on his face, “I know, but it’s not something that can be easily taken care of in such a short time. I’d imagine it’d take a couple of months.” 

Mark, ignorantly, thought there was no way the frown on Ms Jung’s face could get any deeper, but of course, she was always exceptional at beating people’s expectations. Wrinkles that most certainly did not exist a few moments ago now formed between her brows and around the ends of her twisted lips. 

“This is rather unpleasant,” She murmurs and turns to the side. “Students and parents will most certainly not let this go, Professor. Many people gave up something to be under your guidance for a year, and I cannot say they’ll be...satisfied with a substitute. You have become an image for us these past few months, and we are expecting a rise in applications from international students. Do you know what international students mean? More money, more sponsors from outside of the country. What will people think if they hear a contract lecturer of your...media converge suddenly decided to quit early? They won’t question you and your...rather vague reasons- no, they will question the university. _Are they not treating him well? Is it a good environment? Is it somewhere where foreigners are actually welcome?_ You understand where I am coming from, don’t you professor?” 

Mark wants to say _no, I don’t understand_ just out of spite but he bites his tongue and instead feels his lip twitching viciously in a pathetic attempt to keep up the polite pretenses. “I understand that and I apologize. I will not argue if you decide to not give me my pay for this month. As for me, I will be sure to release an official statement on my departure as to not affect the university's image.” He bows his head slightly and is ready to bolt out of the room but Professor Jung turns back in her seat to stare at Mark with a new gleam in her eye.

“And what about Jinyoung, Professor?” She asks this with a slight smile on her face and Mark has never so as came close to imagining rearranging someone’s face like he is right now. 

He tries to keep his cool, his voice flat, “What about him? I’d assume you’d assign someone else to him?”

“Yes...we might…” She begins with a twirl of her chair, and then gets up to walk around her desk. “But you might have forgotten how close we were to expelling him last month after he...caused that fiasco outside the university. The only reason why I decided against the idea was because Professor Choi insisted that Jinyoung would somehow...function better if you were by his side. What he meant by that, god knows, but I have seen improvements, and by that I mean I haven’t seen much. He’s been quiet for a while now.” 

Mark can’t imagine what she’d do if she know about the bridge ‘fiasco’. He tries hard to keep the grimace off his face. 

“But I cannot guarantee that will continue if you were to leave,” She continues as she makes her way round the sculptures, her long fingernails gliding against the glass.

“Are you saying you’ll kick him out if I were to leave?” Mark shoots back, anger bubbling deep in his stomach. 

“I am not threatening you, Professor,” Professor Jung says, crossing her hands across her chest. “I am simply stating a possible outcome of your departure. I would just like you to be aware of all the consequences that will come with your resignation is all.” She says it sweetly, but Mark could only taste the toxic hidden underneath the sugar coated words. 

She walks back to her chair briskly and settles herself in just as before, looking back at Mark with a half-smile. She knew he was rattling him, even if he tried hard in playing it off. 

“I hope you will think about it more carefully,” She says with finality and then offers her palm out to the door. Mark could not have followed an instruction she gave more quickly than that. He felt if he stayed in the room any longer steam was going to burst out from his ears and his head was just going to rocket off his neck. 

The second he’s out in the hallway, Mark takes a long and haggard breath. The anger bubbled and soared through his veins, his pulse raging in his neck. He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose several times until he feels like he can move without wanting to throw a punch at a wall. 

Mark was at a crossroad now, people’s words weighing him down. Everything was suffocating; the memories, Jinyoung, the university, the emails, himself. Thoughts whirl around his head and make him dizzy enough to feel the need to lean into the wall beside him. It would seem Mark leaving was going to ruin Jinyoung, and staying was going to ruin him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi hope you liked the chapter!!!
> 
> i just wanted to kind of apologise in advance or not...advance? this might not be at all historically correct, unfortunately for me the internet doesn't offer a wide range of info on finnish history in the 1800's, so a lot of it inspired from what i do know, some british history and fiction. i hope it doesn't bother anyone but again, i apologise.  
> ok bye!!!!


	8. live

The fishing dock stretches out deep into the sea. Light grey clouds curtain the skies and envelop the scape with a dull glow. The waters are deathly still, nothing but the tips of calm waves breaking the surface. There’s a heavy silence here, as if the air carried voices, whispers and screams that too soon withered apart and fell into the wind, morphing into the howls and whistles that rattle your windows at night.

Mark takes a step forward, the wood creaks and cries from beneath him, the sound diving deep into the depths of the water below. He looks down at his bare feet, the skin pale and clean, and stretches his toes, finding there was no ache in them, no blisters or hardened skin. This is his body, he reassures himself, this is his.

He looks up, and takes in his surroundings with curiosity. He wasn’t afraid of this place, he’d been here before, whether it was in this body, or another, or both. The scent of the ocean was thick in the air, the taste of salt tickling the inside of his mouth. Mark allows himself to indulge in it for a brief moment before he hears the wood from below him groan again as another joins him on the dock.

Mark doesn’t move, he knows who is here, he know why he’s here.

“ _It’s beautiful, isn’t it?_ ” _He_ murmurs from behind, his voice is like velvet and chopped wood, like purple silk wrapped around a wound.

“You always loved this place,” Mark replies, his eyes towards the sun, hidden behind rain clouds.

“ _You love it too,_ ” He says, as a matter-of-fact, and Mark does not bother denying it.

“It’s not mine,” He whispers under his breath.

“ _It is yours, as much as it is mine,_ ” Barrick says, meeting Mark on the dock shoulder to shoulder. Mark turns to look at him, he thought about resisting, but the fact he was here at all meant something inside him was chipping away at the edges.

Barrick’s wearing his usual dark bottoms and loose white tunic, the puffy arms rolled up, revealing a twisted burn mark that drags down from his wrist to his elbow. With the same arm, he lifts it and takes his hand to drag it through his bright blonde hair, it shimmers in the filtered sunlight, and Mark finds he can feel the hair tickling through the gaps of his fingers as if it were him brushing his hair.

“Why am I here?” Mark asks finally, bringing his eyes back to the sea.

“ _You tell me, it’s not as if I can drag you here, Mark,_ ” Barrick says the words with a hint of sadness and Mark closes his eyes.

“Is it because of Jinyoung?”

“ _I don’t know-_ ”

“But you know something?” Mark asks accusingly.

Barrick gives him a thoughtful look, his lips turned down a fraction. “ _I know you’re here because you’re lost. We have not met here since you were a child, when my memories had first surfaced._ ”

“I still see you though, even if we don’t meet-”

“ _We are always together, I know._ ” This seems to please him a little, and that irritates Mark but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Something’s wrong…” Mark mutters, Jinyoung’s red eyes flicker in his mind and he feels the coast inside him crumble a fraction. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to stay or not.”

“ _You would leave to protect yourself,_ ” Barrick doesn’t say it like he’s accusing or judging him, he says it like he’s announcing what he already knows.

“There’s nothing for me to do for him,” Mark replies, as he had been telling himself for the last week, but by now the words seem unconvincing.

“ _You can feel it, can you not?_ ” Barrick asks, staring at Mark’s side profile. “ _Something has changed. _”__

__“What could possibly change?” Mark huffs, ruffling at his own hair in frustration. “We are nothing, nothing but bodies filled with memories that don’t belong to us. We’re a merry-go-round that never stops, we just keep going round and round and round.”_ _

__“ _Nothing stays the same forever,_ ” Barrick replies and takes a step towards the edge of the dock, he tilts his head down as if he were preparing to dive in any second. “ _There is something deeper than what the two of us know, and it is the fear in both of us of the truth that keeps us from each other and from others._ ”_ _

__“I am a defect, I’m not supposed to remember you, that’s all there is...Barrick,” He says his name sweetly, painfully. For Mark loved him like you would love a brother, a brother he would and could never meet. In the end however that was what was most painful; to remember someone, to know how they worked and ticked, to know every twist in the thoughts that spiralled in their minds, and to only know them as a ghost made up of a clutter of memories. He did not exist, and he did, and it is the constant tug at these two very facts that tore Mark apart on the inside._ _

__Barrick turns around and gives Mark a hard look, “ _You are not a defect just as much as a blind or a deaf man is not - just as much as some men cannot fathom the arts, and other men cannot understand mathematics - that is what makes them who they are, and you are simply you. You are you as you are me, with your restrictions and your freedom, you have my memories and I continue to live through you.  
“You rejected me years ago, you blocked me out, and although my memories still swim in your veins you’ve learnt to burn them out too. I did not argue, I did not fight against it, because it is your life, and I have lived and I have died. But Mark...you are running from something that may finally have the answers you have been searching for._ ” He has two firms hands gripping Mark’s shoulder now, his misted blue eyes stare into him, into his mind, into his flesh and into his soul. “ _If there is one thing I beg of you to remember, it is do not regret. If there is anything my memories can give you, I beg of you to learn, learn to do everything you possibly can in the moment because when it’s gone, when they’re gone, and when you go, the regret lives like maggots from a corpse._ ” Barrick takes a deep breath, his sea-like eyes watering as he brings his palms to Mark’s face and then he let’s go. _ _

__Mark watches him as he turns back to face the sea, and he can feel _him_. Feel the way the wind tickles his temple, the way his throat closes off, the questions that skitter around his brain and nibble at his veins. Mark can feel it all as if he were in two places at once, two people at the same time. It’s suffocating, it’s heavy and Mark thinks of Jinyoung, Jinyoung and all the lives he’s living at once, all the deaths he’s feeling, the pain and the suffering, and he feels the waves hit at the coast harshly. _ _

__“ _Jinyoung…_ ” Barrick says his name naturally, smoothly, like he’d spoken his name a thousand times before. _ _

__Mark stares at the back of Barrick’s head, “Do you know? Do you know who he is?”_ _

__“ _Yes, and no…_ ” Barrick turns around, a contemplating look shrouds his angular face. “ _I know him just as much as he may know me, he is two people, three people, four people, he is many and he is himself._ ”_ _

__“But is he someone we know- you know, you knew from back then? From...Finland?” Mark asks, surprised at the desperation in his voice. “I thought I could tell, that if I were to meet someone, at least someone who remembered, I thought I could tell. I could tell with Hanna...at least.”_ _

__Barrick stares at him with pity? With understanding? With sympathy? Mark couldn’t tell, his own emotions running rampant within him, blocking everything else out. “ _You could tell because you were a child, the memories were new and you had not learnt to block me out. Now however, you’ve separated yourself from me, it won’t be so easy._ ”_ _

__“But you know... don’t you? Who know who he is?”_ _

__Barrick doesn’t reply._ _

__“Why won’t you tell me?” Mark clenches his fist by his side, his frustration building up the longer he stares at Barrick’s still face._ _

__“ _I cannot tell you-no, I won’t tell you,_ ” Barrick states flatly, and his honesty instantly snuffs out the anger inside Mark. _ _

__Mark’s shoulder go slack, “Why not?”_ _

__“ _Because we are more alike than you wish to admit, Mark._ ” Barrick says solemnly. _ _

__“I don’t understand,” Mark murmurs._ _

__“ _Not now, Mark, not while you still fight a war within yourself - one step at a time. Decide what you want to do and then come back, I’m always here._ ” Barrick’s voice is weaved with pain and something else, something brittle and sour, and it seeps into Mark’s bones until it is a feeling that belongs to him to. _ _

__Mark doesn't know what else to say, and Barrick can sense it. Their time is up. So Barrick takes one hand to Mark’s cheek, delicately strokes his skin as would a father to his son and then settles his hand onto Mark’s shoulder. “ _Remember, no matter how you may feel, no matter how tortured you become, there are feelings far worse, far more painful. And when you become the one to inflict them, you become everything you hate - so don’t regret, Mark, don’t regret._ ” He says finally and then pushes him, and as if the movement had summoned the wind, it drags Mark backwards, back off the dock and into the water._ _

__He’s not scared when the water closes up above him, when the cold pricks at his nerves and the sea-salt fills up his lungs. Instead he thinks of Barrick, Barrick who was made up of his emotions, of his memories, of his regrets, who will wait on this dock staring out onto the sea, wishing a wish that not even Mark could hear._ _

 

 

 

 

*

Turku, _1827_

Barrick wasn’t entirely sure what ‘dress appropriately’ really meant. He thought of his tux, the one Carl had bought him for the ball a couple of weeks ago and decided it would be far too extravagant for a dinner. Instead he wore a pair of tight-fitted trousers, his only pair of polished leather shoes, an ironed dress shirt and a vest, tightly fastened to hug his chest. There was only one mirror in the house, just outside of his bedroom door it hung, it’s frame slightly chipped and the reflection cracked just a fraction.

Sweat coated his palms as Barrick took a comb to part his hair to the side, gliding his golden hair back. His eyes wavered, the grey deepening around the blue iris as they seemed to do when he thought too much. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous; there was something about Lady Henriikka that unsettled him with a feeling of both curiosity and fear. To be so beautiful and so ghostly, she was like a painting come to life, like a character right out of a book - you couldn’t take your eyes off of her, and yet you wanted to.

After finally feeling satisfied with his hair, Barrick dug into his vest and took out his pocket watch. It was a gift from Sir Bassi, for when he had turned eighteen, the only birthday Barrick remembered Sir Bassi being around for. Upon it a ‘B’ was carved in beautiful calligraphy and at the bottom the words: ‘start small’. Barrick gives its surface a delicate stroke with his thumb and then goes to click it open. It was just past six, a rather appropriate time for dinner he’d say, but he wasn’t sure, there was no specific time on the invite.

So, instead, Barrick toured his small home, waiting for time to pass, and it passed, at an excruciating rate. The longer he was left idle the more he thought about _why_ Lady Henrikka would want to meet him. He understood his teacher must have spoken about him, pleasantly he hoped, so maybe she was just simply curious? Wanted to put a name to the face? His heart thudded at the thought and he thought bashfully of the way he had faltered the moment she had laid her eyes upon him.

His worries and embarrassment quickly come to a halt at the distant sound of hooves and wheels against gravel. Barrick quickly makes his way out of his home, stuffing his keys and pocket watch into his vest pockets. The sun stood high in the sky, it’s surrounding clear of clouds and Barrick imagined the night was going to be dyed in a deep pink today.

It took a few moments before Barrick could actually spot the horses coming up the path towards the neighbourhood. A man in a top hat and a black coat stood to the back of the two-wheeled curricle, his whip high in the sky. The carriage was of a deep black, it’s wheels large on either side and it’s front open with enough of a hood to cover him from rain. Not that the weather that day would call for it.

Barrick slowly makes his way down the steps of his house and down the footpath where he and the carriage meet. Up close, Barrick makes out the coachman to be an old man, his dark beard speckled with white, the top of his head covered.

“ _Good evening Mr Barrick,_ ” The man bowed, holding his top hat by the edge to keep it up. He gently steps off the back and heads to the opening of the carriage. “ _Would you like some assistance?_ ”

Barrick blinked, mildly surprised on the spot. Although Barrick was familiar and conducted himself timely with those of higher status and wealth, it was very rare to be treated as one. Architects weren’t considered to that of politicians or lawyers, but with enough connections and the right sort of promotions, it was a simple progress to then make a title for yourself.

“ _Ah, no, thank you, I’ll manage,_ ” Barrick finally seemed to force out. The coachman didn’t seem fazed by his momentary blankness and instead bowed again, waiting patiently for Barrick to enter the curricle.

“ _I am sorry for my tardiness but the Lady insisted that I do not leave before she is certain she is ready for your presence, she can be very...peculiar about certain things,_ ” The coachman said as he went to check on the straps and reins of the two horses.

Barrick watched him for a moment before speaking, “ _Did she also tell you to mention it?_ ”

The coachman’s mouth seemed to twitch a fraction from it’s pursed line, “ _No, she did not._ ” He says this almost with amusement and makes his way to the back of the curricle.

Without another word said, the coachman ripped his whip through the air and with a shout the horses started making their way back to the Lady.

 

 

 

*

Seoul, _2016_

Mark’s standing in the history section of the university library with not a god-damn clue as to what he’s doing. Well, he knew what he wanted to do, he just didn’t know why he felt compelled to do it. He never did before. All the years growing up, all he did was try and pretend that he remembered nothing before his early childhood.

There was no Barrick, no Turku, no Finland. He stopped speaking Finnish, even though sometimes it felt more natural to him than it did Chinese or English, and he shut away the part of his mind that begged for reminiscence.

So, really, truly, honestly what was he doing in the far corner of the enormous library staring down a bookshelf of archives about architecture in Europe during the 19th century. He knew there was not going to be anything specifically on Finland during the early 1800’s so he’d hoped there’d be something on the Finland’s impact in architecture or something maybe that held names he’d be familiar with.

He wasn’t confident though, not confident about finding what he was looking for, not even confident about trying in the first place. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, in fact he was glad for it at a point, but it would seem that he did not remember everything about Barrick like he thought he did. In fact, somehow, it would seem Barrick was even holding things back from him. How that was possible, he wasn’t sure.

The emails were beginning to bother him. Like a projector flipping through slides of a power point, his mind took turns to worry and contemplate on different matters. After waking up this morning, all Mark could think about was the painting that had been attached to the first email. He recognised the Aura river, and the remains of the Turku cathedral but it was all burned down, what was once tall building reduced to rubble and ash.

He didn’t know what twisted at his stomach more, the site of what was once a beloved city or the very important fact he didn’t remember it happening. It was dated 1927, it was a year Mark was very aware of, just as the years before but that’s where it ends; Barrick’s memory seems to fracture in his mind, scenes, people appear in blotches in his mind's eye. It stung almost to probe at it - he never had to force himself to remember before, instead settling to ignore whatever he did remember. He remembers Barrick dying-no, he remembers the feel of death, the moments before, the pain and the emotions that swam through him, but he didn’t actually remember how he had died.

The more Mark thought about it, the more distressed he became - if by some malfunction in the order of things Mark remembered a past life, why couldn’t he remember it all? Was he not meant to? Or was Barrick preventing something?

Mark takes a hand to his forehead and sighs outwards as if it’d expel the anxiety that writhed in his chest. He thought coming here would help, but he realises now as he looks upon the hundreds and hundreds of books that this was just going to confuse him more, scare him even.

So he turns on his chuffed heels, and twists his way out of the maze of shelves, not touching a single book spine as if they’d somehow set him on fire. He never liked libraries, or books, which is hilarious for a philosopher but learning about the world and questioning it were two different things, and Mark feared knowledge like you would a rattlesnake in the desert.

It’s when he recognises the astronomy shelves does Mark know he’s closer to the exit, except the astronomy section is made up of three aisles, and the one he decides to go through takes him towards the study area where hundreds of desks and chairs are lined up like soldiers in units. It wasn’t the exit, but it wasn’t suffocating.

Mark rubs at the back of his neck, the muscles stiff beneath his skin. He couldn’t relax, there was a feeling of being watched, as if the books behind him were just going to rumble out of their slots and explode, like the words trapped in their paper and covers were going to scratch their way out and scream into the air. He stood still for a while, waiting almost, but no matter how many seconds ticked by (and Mark was counting) there was just the distant hum of the air conditioner and the soft whispers and steps of others ghosting through the library.

“Professor?” A voice, like slick honey, and velvet whispers closely. A title, a word, and somehow it causes shivers to run down Mark’s spine and raise the thin hairs on his arms. He takes a deep breath and looks over his shoulder to find Jinyoung trapped between the shelves, books looking down at him, their shadows try to drown him in darkness but there’s a spark in his eyes that won’t so easily be snuffed out.

Mark clears his throat and rolls out his shoulders, his muscles protesting against the movement - he’d been neglecting his warm ups and exercise routines lately, and his body was not happy about it.

“Jinyoung…” Mark replies with a nod, he couldn’t tell if he had purposely lowered his voice or if the ambience in the library muted him down.  
“What are you doing here?” Jinyoung asks, stepping out from between the shelves and into the open space of the study area where the large windows leaked in sun, the dying orange light illuminating him.

Mark hadn’t seen Jinyoung since he had left Insook’s house that morning, and since then Mark has been avoiding him - it was subconscious at first, but the way his body would jerk at the sight of him and the way his throat would dry up at the mere presence of him started to sound too much like a siren in Mark’s head, and then he was conscious.

“I should be asking you that question,” Mark chides, hoping the twitch in his face wasn’t too obvious. He felt out of control, like he was in his body and he wasn’t, even though he thought the words he spoke, it was as if someone else’s mouth was moving for him.

“I do study, Professor,” Jinyoung laughs, it’s a melodic sound and it echo's in Mark’s head. There was something bittersweet about the honest smile that wraps Jinyoung’s face, a smile you could feel in his shoulders, and his posture - it was both fascinating and painful to watch. How a man could understand suffering to the depths of it’s corners and still find himself laughing.

 _They are similar, are they not?_ Barrick’s voice is clear in Mark’s head and it jolts him on the inside, and he realises now the stiffness in his body is not due to a lack of activity. _Something has changed_ , Barrick had said, and he was right. Mark could feel it, could feel the second heartbeat, the pulses, the blood running through his veins that were his but also not.

“I’m sorry I lied,” Jinyoung suddenly confesses, the look on his face meant that Mark had missed his chance to respond. “I saw you in the hallway and followed you in, I wanted to call out to you but something...kept stopping me.” He admits, his cheeks a very slight pink now in the sunlight.

Mark sees him and he sees someone else; deep black hair, eyes full of sparks, a laugh that could make you think hope wasn’t just a bottomless pit. He didn’t like this feeling, this deep, glooming sense of detachment to himself, he found himself clinging to something; the way Jinyoung’s eyebrows arch, the way his eyes took Mark in with wonder and curiosity, and a question, there was a question in his eyes and it spilled into the air, and injected into the spaces that made up Mark.

Mark swallows hard and bites the inside of his cheek in hope the pain will bring him back to the ground, but he couldn’t help it, he felt Barrick moving, his memories folding over with a new strength Mark didn’t realise was still inside him. Something was reacting, his insides churning, his mind splitting in two and the longer he stared at Jinyoung, the worse it got.

“Professor, you look kind of out of it, are you ok?” Jinyoung asks, and Mark clenches his jaw at the sound. There was something odd, the sound of his voice, the way his eyes fluttered, the way he parted his lips to breathe, they were his, his movements and it was his voice and it wasn’t.

What had happened? Did meeting Barrick on the docks change something? Has Mark changed? Questions stampede on the inside of his skull, and if there was such thing as a soul, Mark could feel it fight and cling and cry from within him.

Jinyoung begins to look worried and Mark realises somewhere in the darkness that he needs to speak. “I’m...fine,” Mark breathes between his teeth. “Just a little hot.”

“You look cold,” Jinyoung says it like you would make a note when observing something. “Do you have a fever?” Disastrously, catastrophically, Jinyoung brings his palm to Mark’s forehead, his skin was so cool against Mark but it _hurt_. Electricity ran from where their skins touched and Mark could feel it shoot through his veins and run with his blood.

Jinyoung jumped back, flicking his hand, “Shit! What was that?”

Mark leans slowly into the shelf beside him, he could feel his jaw threatening to chatter and his fingers tingle with fire. “It was probably just static.” Mark says low and prays, wishes, begs for some sort of strength to get him out of here and into his office where he could crumble into the ground and let the earth drink in the storm that was brewing inside him.

Jinyoung snorts looking at his hand, “It felt more like a short circuit.”

Mark tries to laugh but it comes out strangled, and before Jinyoung can catch just how much Mark feels like crashing into the ground, making a crater for a home, long pair of arms wrap around Mark and grip him tightly from behind.

“What you guys doing?” Youngjae asks from beside Mark. He’s looking pristine today; he’s wearing his favourite brown trousers with a white button shirt tucked in, a bowtie is neatly fastened around his collar and his hair is blown and styled to the side. The round circle glasses on his face are perfectly aligned on his nose and his eyes glimmer brightly from behind the lenses. “It’s all deserted here, having a secret rendezvous?”

Jinyoung looks up, blinking in surprise at Youngjae’s sudden entrance. Mark silently thankful for the diversion in attention leans into the shelf a little more, trying to keep the look on his face casual - he doesn’t miss Youngjae’s grip tighten on his arm.

“Professor, a rendezvous, without you?” Jinyoung smirks, and it’s meant to look mischievous, but it’s edges are soft and Jinyoung instead looks a little sad, the setting sun whispering warmth from behind him.

“You’re not actually studying, Jinyoung, are you?” Youngjae fake gasps and goes to nudge Mark.

“No, he was just following me around like a puppy,” Mark forces the chide and then inwardly winces at the flash of hurt that passes Jinyoung’s face. He instantly regrets it, but the regret doesn’t linger long enough before the hollowness sucks him in. Mark thinks he’s just going to buckle into the ground but Youngjae’s elbow digs into his back and he presses his side tight against Mark.

“How mean…” Jinyoung forces the laugh. His eyes look distant, but not the kind of distant where he’d wonder in his memories but rather where his own thoughts seem to obstruct his vision for a moment. “Well, you guys must be busy - I have a class too, I’ll see you later Professor?” He says it towards Mark, and there’s the sound of hope in his voice and Mark doesn’t understand what it means, or how to respond, and even if he did, he didn’t have any strength left than to nod.

The two professors stand side by side for a moment, watching Jinyoung trudge as he heads down the study space, disappearing into an aisle, and then Mark falls.

“Woah, you okay?” Youngjae asks, bending down on his knees.

Mark takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes. Instantly he feels better; the weight of keeping his body up took more toll on him than the feeling of having his insides split. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” He tries to reassure Youngjae, but the colour drained from his face and the cold sweat that stuck to his skin betrayed him.

Youngjae gives him a skeptical look and sighs, “You weren’t looking so good in the conference room either. Thought it was the heat but it seems you may have a fever. You want to go to the nurse?”

Mark shook his head vigorously, whatever was going on, it wasn’t something medicine could fix; he could feel it. “No, it’s okay, I just need to get to my office and nap for a bit, help me out?”

Youngjae gives him a soft smile and Mark is overcome with a warm feeling; he seems to forget often that he was not always as alone as he felt. Youngjae brings Mark’s arm over his shoulder and with a short grunt, the two of them rise to their feet. “It’s good I came when I did.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” Mark huffs, putting most of his weight on Youngjae’s side.

“It’s got to be odd, right? That you’re even questioning why a professor is in a library in the first place,” Youngjae laughs heartily and Mark would join him if he didn’t feel so weak.

Luckily the hallways are empty, most of the classes are in session and there’s nothing but a few curious eyes as the two of them head towards Mark’s office. It’s a short distance, just down the length of two halls, which is as close as you could get from one point to another in this university that seems to go on forever.

Youngjae shuts the door behind them and settles Mark quickly into one of the sofas. The leather squeaks from beneath his weight and Mark melts into the tightness. “Jesus,” He breathes and lets his eyes flutter shut.

“You sure you’re fine?” Youngjae’s voice is distant, or at least sounds like it is. “Mark?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re worrying me, I think I should call Nurse Kim-”

“No, no nurses-” Mark mumbles. “I just need some sleep.”

Youngjae makes a displeased noise, and shuffles on his feet. Mark can hear his breathing, feel his presence like he were dreaming it; reality slipping away ever so slowly. He doesn’t feel afraid, in fact he welcomes the darkness and floats within it like debris in the universe.

Then the pain hits; like a lightening bolt, it hits him with such a force his spine snaps in two and his chest lunges forward. Electricity and heat runs down his arms and his legs, and cooks his flesh from under his skin. Theres the smell of heat and the taste of glue in his mouth- the world crashes upon him and his bones break under the force. There was pain like he had never imagined, pain like the marrow in his bones had turned into molten and he was melting from the inside out.

 _Mark, it’s okay_ , a soft voice whispers somewhere in the darkness. The voice wraps around him like a blanket. _It’s okay, it’s okay._ It comforts him, it distorts him and twists; the pitch dips and peak. It was Youngjae, it was Jinyoung, it was Mihyun, it was Barrick, it was his mother and his father, it was Hanna and it was his sister. It’s made of screams and crackling fire, it’s the sea before a storm and it’s the taste of blood.

“Mark...wake up.”

He doesn’t want to; lost in the vastness and heavy by the pain, Mark simply wants to slip away into stardust and flicker away. However something grabs at his hand, a rope tightening around his wrist, a cuff clicking, chains clanging - _he can’t leave_. Somehow he’s known this at the back of his head. He couldn’t leave, not because he shouldn’t, not because he wouldn’t, but because he couldn’t. Not if he had all the power of the world, nothing could take him away now.

Barrick knows this too, he always knows; he understands Mark more than Mark understands himself. He said something had changed, but he twisted his words, nothing had changed but he knew something was going to and it slammed into Mark like a train skidding down the tracks.

There was a laugh bubbling in them, or maybe it was just Barrick but it boils and pours out the pot and it ripples through Mark. There was nothing humorous about the feeling of losing yourself, losing a half of your mind to a ghost who didn’t belong to this world just as Mark did not belong to his. Or maybe it was a triumphant victory for Barrick.

_Do not think like that, I only wish to protect you, Mark-_

_You wish to live again._

_I do not...there is nothing for me here._

_You will make something for yourself - if there is one thing I am sure of that runs deep in my veins it is your thirst for creation._

_Whether you believe me or not, Mark - I had not planned to become part of you. The world has brought us together, and I have never been more sure of what I have to do now then I did when I was alive._

_You do not exist._

_But I live. And I am here. And for the things I could not do while I was alive, I will do for you._

_I am not your second chance._

_No, you are not. Rather, you are my chance at redemption._

_Give me back my body._

_You misunderstand, Mark - I did not force myself in...you let me in._

 

 

 

*

Mark awakes with a gasp, blinded by white. He feels his eyes roll in his head with ache and his chest burns with every breath he takes in.

“Oh jesus christ he’s awake.” Youngjae’s voice has never sounded so crystal clear before and it almost hurts Mark to hear it. “Mark, Mark, are you okay?”

“What happened?” Mark grumbles, he's light with dizziness.

“Oh my, thank you God,” Insook’s prayers dance in the air. “Thank you God.”

“Ahjumma?” Mark calls out and let’s his head lay slack to the side where Youngjae and Insook stand an inch apart from each other. Youngjae looks down at him with wrinkles embedded with worry and Insook has her face in her palm, whispering.

“Are you okay?” Youngjae asks, settling a delicate hand on the bar of the bed. Mark makes an indication to sit up but his hands give up on him and he slips back. Youngjae is quick to grab him and pull him upwards, his hand ghosting around Mark, looking prepared for him to topple to the side at any moment.

“Are we in a hospital?” Mark’s voice is thick and hoarse in his throat, and he realises now he’s dying of thirst.

“Yes…” Youngjae cautiously says as if he wasn’t sure how to continue the sentence.

Mark’s face drops, “Am I dying?”

Youngjae’s face drops with his, but more so in confusion than devastation. “What? No, no-jesus christ, Mark it’s...well, it’s not entirely wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

Insook is there then, an oddly soft hand settles onto his shoulder and Mark knows it’s meant to be an act of comfort but he can’t help but stiffen. He stares up at the two of them, and they both seem to avoid his look. Youngjae chews on his lip for a few moments before he takes in a deep breath.

“There’s no easy way to say this Mark but…” He takes another deep breath and now Mark was getting impatient.

“But what?”

 _You died._ Barrick says, his voice so loud and clear it was if he was in the room with them. Mark shivers and sucks in a sharp breath. “I died?”

Youngjae’s eyes flicker with shock, “Yes...yes you died.”

“How? What? I don’t- I just remember falling asleep.” Mark mumbles, his hand finding it’s way into his hair, he’s tugging at the roots as if the pain could prove whether he was really alive or not.

“You fell asleep…” Youngjae’s voice shook ever so slightly. You wouldn’t have noticed if you didn’t know him well enough. “And I watched you for a while, I was worried and then suddenly it just seemed like you stopped breathing. I called the ambulance immediately and they told me you had no pulse - jesus, Mark, you died. If it wasn’t for the paramedics coming as fast as they did…” Youngjae’s voice trails off and Mark isn’t aware as to whether he just stops talking or he’s zoned out.

_You died, Mark. Your heart stopped beating and you left this world. You wondered another and you floated and you felt at peace because there isn’t anything there. There’s no other, no death, no life - existence becomes nothing but a word. And even words are scarce over there. You died, and you returned not as one but as two. Your heart beats for a person who has long forgotten what a pulse feels like and you share your thoughts with a ghost, but it’s okay. It’s okay, Mark, don’t be afraid. After all you’ve been here before, you’ve been here many times - you have forgotten, and you have kept forgetting, but finally something has changed. Something has changed and you remember - you may not remember it all, but it’s okay because this is just the beginning. Live Mark, not just for yourself but for those that now make up your cells, and swim in your blood, and thrive in your nerves. Live for them all, for they have all died waiting for this moment._

Suddenly confusion is no longer an option, questions don’t trample upon his brain and his breath settles calmly into his chest. He may not be sure what has happened or what’s going to happen, both the past and the future a muddle of impossibilities but he is not afraid. The fog Mark has been settled in for over half his life seems to disperse and everything comes into his mind’s eye with focus and sharpness; he takes in the space around him like a new light has been switched on, and everything is clear.

Clear and clean as would the wiping of a layer of steam from a window, as you would clean a shelf of the dust; all the worries and anxiety seems to melt away and there’s only Mark. Mark who is clear of two very specific things, the first is that he needs to find Jinyoung. He wasn’t sure why, he didn’t question why, he just feels it inside, felt the need as natural as a bee to a flower.

The second was a far more complicated concept, a combination of complicated facts even - again, he wasn’t sure how to come of it, or how to understand it but there was a feeling inside him that doesn’t let the possibilities scare him, like the calm waves upon the Aura river.

 _Thank you Mark._ Mark hears his voice, a nostalgic sound - so clear inside his head. He remembers the same voice comforting him of the nightmares that tortured him when he was young, he remembers the voice whispering apologies like he breathed oxygen, he remembers it so vividly he couldn’t imagine he’d forgotten in the first place. Barrick is _here_ , whether in the past, or the present or the future - Barrick is alive and he brings change with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, this is a confusion, messy ass chapter. and you cnt believe it took me so long to write this bUT HA IT DIDNT. life hit me suddenly and i was spongebob cave man meme for a good two weeks. 
> 
> i know this is all confusing rn but its one of those "ok this needs to fucking happen so i can just fucking continue this story and start revealing and clearing shit up" kind of moments. and the moment has happened, things will happen (you're gna come back to this and cuss me out after i upload future chapters and nothing happens). but trying is ...believing? (that is not the right quote)
> 
> anyway, how are you all, i hope you're well. good luck to everyone starting school again!!! and good luck to everyone start new adventures where you have no clue as to where its gna take you (me). you're all such precious, little humans and you need to remember that you burn with life, and wifi, wifi is a privilege. idek what im saying anymore goD bye
> 
> p.s if there are typos i will cm bk to them. i need to just publish this before i delete it all and rewrite and let it go for another week.
> 
> p.p.s html hates me and i give up


	9. her asylum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello idk what to heck is happening with the html so ples forgive the mess while i cry (at this rate i may just drop the whole 'other languages are in italics' CAUSE TIS POINTLESS)
> 
> warning: TYPOS. MESS. i posted this at like midnight, i shall return

Turku, _1827_

The ride to Lady Henrikka’s house was not long, a half hour journey, just a little on the west of town. It’s rather secluded, separated from the rest of the residential areas and slightly hidden by the woods that border the town from the next.

On the way, Barrick wanted to ask the coachman several questions; what did the Lady want with him? Was she actually the Governer-general’s daughter? And if she was, what was she doing in Turku? But between the sound of the wheels against the gravel, the horses hooves and the vicious whistle of the whip, there wasn’t much words Barrick could get in between. So instead he settles inside the curricle, slipping as deep into the shadows as he can, conscious of onlookers, and watched Turku pass him by.

Barrick sensed they were close when the coachman steered the curricle down a quiet path, where thick layers of birch trees began to curtain them on the sides, their trunks a silver white, bright against the dry grass. They reminded Barrick briefly of snow, and how winter was impending ever so slowly.

Eventually the trees cleared up to an opening where a large brick building came into sight. It threw Barrick off immediately, he’d imagined a large house, a mansion even, to which it was but there was something off about the shape of Lady Henrikka’s house. It was wide, and flat looking, dull grey bricks piled heavily upon each other, topped off with equally dull tiles that barely protruded into a point for a roof. Barrick thought maybe it was simply an old plot of land that were to be rebuilt upon, maybe just a temporary home for Lady Henrikka. Maybe, dare Barrick hope, that was why he was called?

His hopes however are quickly extinguished the moment the horses of the curricle halt at the gates of the mansion. It is at that distance then does Barrick notice the windows, to which at first blended in with the white frame now were clearly white painted bars hammered outside the window panes.

Barrick sat up, finding a stiffness in his shoulders that wasn’t there before He imagined the coachman had heard the deep breath he took in because he speaks, “ _No need to be worried, Mr Nieminen. The Lady will explain it all to you._ ”

There’s a painful and long creak then, the sound of metal whining as the gate shuddered to an open, two men pulling on either side. Barrick watched as the bars at the bottom clawed against the rubble, leaving scars in the ground as if the gate was reluctant to open to him.

When the curricle began to move again Barrick suddenly became aware of the uneasy feeling growing in the depths of his chest. It amplified at the sight of men in white clothing, large buttons riding up to their collar, walking into the large wooden doors of the front.

Then everything comes to a sudden halt when Barrick see’s a small but neatly engraved sign standing tall from between flower beds reading;

_Welcome to Zakrevsky Private Hospital._

At that point, Barrick quickly realised that he had not arrived at Lady Henrikka’s house at all, but instead, her asylum.

 

*

Seoul, _2016_

There was nothing more painstakingly boring than being locked up inside a hospital room. Everything was so blank and white like it was just begging for Mark to make a mess. He tries to control himself, all the whilst staring at the potted plants that decorated his windowsill, wondering whether damp soil could stick to walls.

He never gets to test out his theory though, he’s never alone in his room long enough to wreck havoc.

“How are you feeling Mr Tuan?” His doctor asks just as he has for the last week, three times a day.

“I’m fine, doctor,” Mark replies automatically. “When can I be discharged?”

“Not yet, Mr Tuan,” The doctor, a middle aged man that looked like he’d just gone through his third divorce, said as he went to check the IV drip. “You do know you died, right? We’re still trying to diagnose the cause, and we don’t want to risk anything discharging you.”

They’ve also had this same conversation for the last week, three times a day.

If they were really going to make Mark stay here till they found a cause, then either he was going to be here forever, or transferred to a mental hospital. Mark wasn’t particularly fond of either options.

“Doctor, I’ve been here for a week and you said everything was functioning normally,” Mark huffs and sinks deep into his pillow.

“Yes but even a cancer patient’s heart can beat normally,” He replies.

“You think I have cancer?”

The doctor gives him a flat look, “It was an example. Either way Mr Tuan, I cannot discharge you - not until we’re a hundred percent sure.”

“Not even ninety percent?”

The doctor doesn’t respond, checks something on his noteboard and then walks out the room. Now Mark is left alone in the room with his thoughts of destruction once again.

 _Not entirely alone,_ Barrick muses.

Mark rolls his eyes, _I almost forgot you were here._

_I did not want to be of inconvenience._

_Ha, too late._

_Your attitude towards me is contradictory._

_I’m pretty sure blocking you out for fifteen years and not wanting you in my head is on pretty consistent lines._

_I could not have come back if it weren’t for you - something has changed. You have changed._

Mark doesn’t respond to that because they both know it’s true, and Mark doesn’t want to admit it either outwardly or inwardly.

He gets up then, irritated with Barrick, with this room, with himself, and grabs his IV drip and drags it behind him for a stroll. The hospital is huge, the first time he got up and went to search for the bathroom he got lost for an hour, maybe this time he can get lost long enough for them to decide he can be discharged.

“Good morning, Mr Tuan,” Nurse Kim waves from behind the desk. Nurse Kim is one of those people that constantly smiles, not out force but like she was born with the ends of her lips turned up. She is also one of the few things that don’t make Mark want to skin himself from the scalp down out of entertainment. “How you feeling?”

Mark leans against the desk, perching on his elbow, trying to looks suave as you possibly could in a hospital gown and smiles thinly. “They won’t discharge me.”

She gives him a sympathetic look, “You did die Mr Tuan, people’s hearts don’t just stop.”

“I’m pretty sure they can,” Mark mumbles under his breath. “Well either they find a cause they’re satisfied with or I’ll die in here.”

“Don’t think like that Mr Tuan,” She says sweetly, stapling a pile of papers together. “The doctors are doing their best for you.”

“I know, I know,” He huffs. But he couldn’t help but feel like he was wasting time in here. There was something tugging at him, a need to go out and do...something. Barrick’s been telling him something has changed, and he could feel it, but he didn’t know what did change, or what was going to. It was like holding a box in your hand and you couldn’t open it to see what was inside.

All he knew was that he wanted to see Jinyoung, as if the answer was going to be attached to him like a sign with neon lights. He wonders if Jinyoung even knows he’s in here. They must all be wondering where he is. Mark can’t imagine Youngjae went out and announced that the professors heart had stopped and so he’ll be on leave for a while.

Youngjae and Insook had visited almost everyday but even then there was a limit on how many times they could ask how he was and if he needed anything. Luckily, they had not informed his parents (only because they didn’t have their number) but Erica did grow worried after a while of not responding to her text or calls.

Mark decides to continue his stroll, having wound up in the podiatry department twice, opting to just stare at the new born babies through the large window pane. He wonders for a brief moment who these children will become, who they were, and who they’ll turn into. Whether it’d be past lives, or their current lives, or future lives, he wonders how they will, and would have turned into the person they became, and will become.

Human’s are extraordinary, Mark finds himself thinking.

This thought is then interrupted by the shrill shriek of a female. It’s coming from the next hall, the cardiology department where Mark was staying. Curiosity and boredom leads him back to the front desk where Nurse Kim is standing awkwardly while some girl throws a fit on the floor.

“I want to see my brother!” She screams, hysterically and all. Everyone’s basically watching her as she kicks her legs and tugs at her long blonde hair-

“Mihyun?” Mark barks and she suddenly stops, her bright brown eyes land upon him immediately and suddenly a smile shoots on her face.

“Professor!” She squeals and gets up to her feet. She then eyes the nurse and smiles awkwardly, “I mean...o-oppa…” She laughs awkwardly as she makes her way towards Mark.

“Mr Tuan, do you know her?” Nurse Kim asks, eyeing Mihyun suspiciously.

Mark looks between the nurse and Mihyun with a brief moment of confusion before slowly putting a hand to Mihyun’s head, “Yes, she’s my sister, thank you.”

Mihyun wraps herself around Mark’s arm and they quickly head into his room, the IV drip rattling behind them.

“What’s going on? What are you doing here?” Mark asks as he goes to settle onto the side of his bed.

Mihyun takes a deep breath and places one palm to the wall, “What’s going on? _What’s going on?_ You disappear for a week, and Jinyoung almost loses his mind - not that he wasn’t on that course anyway.”

“Is he alright?”

Mihyun purses her lips and then whips her phone out.

“Who are you texting?”

“Jinyoung.”

“Why?”

“He’s in the hospital, we’ve been searching around this huge ass place for like two hours now.” Mihyun huffs, tapping away furiously.

“Two hours? What? How did you even find me?”

“We followed Professor Choi here yesterday - he wouldn’t tell us anything, saying he didn’t want us to worry but boy that did not bode well with Jinyoung,” Mihyun says and then stuffs her phone away. “I’ve spoken to some of them you know, well tried to at least.”

_His memories?_

Mark scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, “So he’s told you?”

“Yeah, pretty much everything,” Mihyun says and goes to sit on the guest seat beside Mark’s bed.

“I’m sorry about lying to you,” Mark says, looking away.

“It’s alright, I know why you did it. Although to be honest I thought it was because you were hiding something,” Mihyun says, she says it in a way like it was still a thought that ran through her head.

“What would I hide?”

Mihyun smiles at that, “We’re all hiding something professor. Some more obvious about it than others.”

Mark’s lip twitches into half a smile, “I agree.”

“So is the reason why you’re here a secret then?”

“Ah, no, not really, but it’s not easy to explain either-”

The door slams open then and Jinyoung is in the opening, his breath heavy and his hair a raging mess. Mark and Mihyun both stare at him as he trudges into the room gasping for air.

“Are you okay?” Mihyun asks, getting up from her seat.

Mark continues to stare at Jinyoung, like he’s looking at him for the first time.

“I. Just ran. From. The- the other side. Of the hospital.” Jinyoung gasps and staggers quickly to the chair.

“You didn’t need to rush, jesus, it’s not like he’s going to disappear.” Mihyun huffs, her hands on her hips.

“Unfortunately,” Mark mutters.

Jinyoung looks up then, and their eyes meet and he holds his breath.

 _Something’s changed,_ , Mark thinks.

 _What do you mean?_ Barrick replies.

_He looks different…_

_He has not changed._

_But he looks different._

_No, you simply see him differently now._

_Why? What did you do?_

_I did nothing. It was you who changed. You died Mark, and once you’ve experienced death, the anxiety and fear that you once clung to became nothing but whispers. Jinyoung was once a source of worry for you, a key to a box you had left shut for a very long time, and so you feared him, and blocked him out as you blocked me out once. Now it seems you’ve relieved yourself of the fog, and see him for what he is, a boy, a man._

_I thought I’d be able to tell...who he was. Not who he is._

_He is no one but himself._

_How are you able to block out your memories from me?_

Barrick does not respond and Mark brings himself back to the world where Jinyoung is staring at him as if he’s found something he’s been searching for. Which, in hindsight, he has.

“Professor,” Jinyoung smiles, softly, delicately and Mark’s eyebrows tighten together as an odd emotion runs through him. “How are you? Are you okay?”

Mark parts his lips to speak but he can’t seem to find the words.

“He seems to be okay,” Mihyun interjects but Jinyoung doesn’t take his eyes off Mark. “Saw him walking around before we bumped into each other.”

Mark tears his eyes way and gives Mihyun a flat look, “Bumped into each other? You were throwing a tantrum on the floor.”

“Tactics - I found you, didn’t I?”

Mark snorts, “You did.”

“What happened?” Jinyoung says, his voice stitched with worry.

“Ah...well...I don’t really know,” Mark laughs half-heartedly, peaking at Jinyoung from the corner of his eye. “My heart apparently just stopped-”

“What!?” Mihyun and Jinyoung both exclaim.

“What- you mean, you died?” Jinyoung asks, leaning in closely.

“Ah...yeah, but I’m alive now?” Mark replies, as if it was going to ease any of the tension.

Jinyoung slumps back in his seat, his eyes going blank and Mark could almost see the tracks his mind was taking off at. Mihyun begins to pace then, the look on her face mirroring Jinyoung’s.

“Is there something you both aren’t telling me?” Mark asks, he thinks they’re not going to reply, looking too deep in their thoughts but Jinyoung looks up and Mihyun stops mid-step and they both give each other a look before returning it towards Mark.

“You know how I told you earlier...that I was speaking to some of his...past lives?” Mihyun starts, her fingernails between her teeth as she speaks. “Well, it was honestly just over a week ago. Jinyoung was telling me all about you know, the memories, the dreams. And then suddenly…” She trails off, as if she couldn’t find the words to explain.

“I was taken over, briefly,” Jinyoung continues. “It was a calm one, but- it wasn’t like the others. This one wasn’t like I was reliving memories…”

“It was like the person itself was _alive_ ,” Mihyun suddenly jumps and then goes to sit on the bed beside Mark. “She...spoke to me, said my name and everything.”

“What?” Mark murmurs and turns to Jinyoung for confirmation.

“It’s true. Do you remember? The blueprints on my wall? I told you they were from Finland but my memories were never enough to know who I was. All I remembered was what I had seen; newspapers, books, the drawings. But then...something happened, like a switch turned on, I knew who I was, I remembered every little detail, every person.” He looks at Mark, his eyes wavering. “She spoke, but I was still _there_ \- it wasn’t like the others, where their memories became too powerful they pushed me away. She asked for a moment and I gave her the space and she...spoke.”

“English, thank god - she started yapping in Finnish but realised eventually we couldn’t understand a word. Well, I couldn’t,” Mihyun grumbles.

“She warned us, or tried to, she kept talking about someone dying…” Jinyoung sucks in a breath. “We didn’t have a clue, she didn’t say a name or anything, she just begged me to protect _him_ and then left.”

“Next day, you weren’t at your lecture,” Mihyun says, her lips pressed into a scowl. “The day after you weren’t there either. We tried calling your phone but it was off, we started to panic, I guess. So we went to ask Professor Choi. He said you were fine but that you couldn’t come back for a while. He wouldn’t tell us more just to not worry us but it made us worry more not knowing what happened. We even tried to ask the old lady at your place but she was never home when we visited, so as you know, yesterday we followed the Professor here.”

Mark took a hand to his hair and slowly brushes his fingers through the strands. He realises then that it was a motion of comfort, not one he had conjured by himself, but one he had adopted from Barrick.

_It reminds me of the sea._

_The way the breeze brushes through your hair._

_Like the air is comforting you._

“I see.” Is what Mark finally says and by the looks on their faces, it’s the last thing they were expecting. The thing is though, Mark isn’t the same person he was a week ago. What once a conversation on past lives, on remembering death scared him to his bones it was like he couldn’t breathe, now was a matter of reason. Mark wanted to know; why does he remember Barrick? Why did he die? How is Jinyoung linked to him?

Jinyoung with all the lives sparking inside him like a set of fireworks ready to go off.

“I guess the first question is, how can someone who has died - a being made up of just memories be able to let’s say ‘live’ and even foretell the future?”

_Are you referring to Jinyoung or me?_

_Both?_

“Didn’t you say before? That a person is predominately made up of their memories?” Mihyun says, she’s been making plaits with her hair and undoing them, just to redo them again. “It’s possible then for them to live through Jinyoung, if he let’s them.”

“Yes...ultimately his consciousness should be able to suppress the other memories-”

“But who am I?” Jinyoung interrupts. “I don’t know what memories belong to me as much as they belong to them. How do I even know if it’s me talking right now?” Jinyoung lowers his head ever so slightly, but Mark catches the worry in his eyes, the worry that he was losing himself to ghosts.

“They belong to you too, Jinyoung,” Mark says comfortingly. “They make up who you are, and you are you with or without them. Just as you are the result of your surroundings, what’s maybe formed your original memories, you are also a result of the memories you were born with. If you try to separate yourself, you’ll just suffocate.”

Jinyoung looks like he’s about to cry but he quickly blinks and spreads a smile on his face, “Have I ever told you, you have a way with words, professor?”

Mark returns his smile, “Once or twice.”

“Next topic is I guess your little death fiasco?” Mihyun asks, her chin in her palm.

“Death fiasco…” Mark repeats. “I’m sorry, but not even I know what happened and the doctors can’t find a cause.”

“But why did… _she_ know?” Jinyoung sighs.

“Can’t you just, I don’t know, ask her?” Mihyun says with a shrug.

Jinyoung looks from her to Mark and shakes his head, “I still haven’t got control of this all yet. There’s too many of them in my head, at most all I can do is let them come when they do, not like I can really reject them in the first place.”

“So we’re assuming I’m the person she predicted was going to die? Why me?”

_Mark, stop._

_If you won’t tell me, I’ll find out for myself._

_Mark, I beg you-_

“I don’t know,” Jinyoung said. “When she said ‘protect him’ I saw a young guy, blonde, blue eyes. He wore old European clothes so I assumed he must have already died.”

“You said you remembered everything from Finland, so you must know who he is then?”

Jinyoung’s face suddenly turns a soft pink, “Uh yeah...he, I think, he was my like- you know, lover or something?”

“You were gay?” Mihyun spat.

“I am not!” He snaps and then jolts, his wide eyes flickering to Mark quickly before readdressing Mihyun. “I mean back then, I was a female so it was just, you know.” Mihyun grins and Mark wonders just what exactly she’s figured out to look so smug.

“So? Did he die or something? Couldn’t protect him and she regrets it? Maybe just a coincidence- yeah nope,” Mihyun shakes her head, her frustration evident on her face. “This is really confusing me now.”

Mark tries to sympathize with her, after all believing something exists is one thing, and trying to understand it is another.

“But either way, I still don’t understand what it has to do with Professor Tuan?” Jinyoung mumbles, wrinkles folding on his forehead. Mark knew that look, the kind of look men at sea had searching for the lighthouse amidst thick fog and dark skies. The kind of look he’d imagine he had all this time.

_Barrick, what are you trying to hide?_

_I’m trying to protect you._

_From what?_

_Memories are not the only thing you inherit when you decide to accept me. You’ll feel every emotion I’ve felt, every thought in mind, everything will come to life in your senses. I do not want to burden you with it Mark, and if you become aware of who is around you...I am afraid we will intertwine deeper than we should._

_You have things you do not want me to feel then? Or know? Like your lover?_

_As you had told Jinyoung, I am part of who you are - but there is a limit, Mark._

Mark takes a deep breath then and looks at Jinyoung. “What was your name? In Finland.” He suddenly asks, feeling Barrick stir inside him.

Jinyoung looks at Mark and clears his throat, “I was the Governer-general’s daughter during the Grand Duchy, Henrikka Arseny Zakrevsky.”

 

*

Turku, _1827_

Barrick’s been holding his breath since he entered through the hospital’s front door. He didn’t want to admit it, but the first image he had once seeing the sign read ‘asylum’ was patients strapped down and screams echoing through hollow hallways.

Instead, the first thing he saw was large polished stair cases transcending from the second floor balconies, their banisters twisting and twirling elegantly at the ends. Extravagant potted plants are scattered around the entrance, large leaves elegant against the soft coloured flowers.

“ _Do not worry Mr Nieminen,_ ” The coachman said, Barrick found he’d removed his top hat and cloak, revealing the finely tailored suit beneath. Where his beard was speckled with white hairs, his hair was still a deep shade of black all the way through. “ _All patients are confined to their rooms unless escorted by a nurse, although if it is just between the two of us, not many people that are here ought to be._ ”

“ _What do you mean?_ ” Barrick asked, following the coachman as he began to venture his way down the first hallway to his left, just below the staircase.

“ _Lady Henrikka told me not to speak too much, but -once again- if it’s just between the two of us, I do not tend to listen to her much,_ ” Barrick heard a smile in his voice. “ _This asylum only caters for the wealthy and powerful, or rather serves as a prison?_ ”

“ _A prison?_ ” Barrick echos.

The coachman stops just before a door at the end of the hallway. It’s dimly lit here, the wallpaper a deep beige and the carpet a warm mahogany colour, the candle lights casting shadows upon the door they stood before.

“ _Room fifty eight belongs to Lady Henrikka,_ ” The coachman informed with a look in his eye Barrick didn’t really understand. “ _As to what I said, do not ponder upon it too heavily, the Lady will answer any of your questions._ ”

“ _What makes her assume I have questions?_ ”

The coachman does not hold back as one side of his mouth turns upwards into a crooked smirk, “ _The Lady shall see you now._ ”

The door suddenly opens then, and not from Barrick’s side, instead he finds Lady Henrikka in the entrance, an unpleasant expression upon her face. “ _The lady has been waiting an awfully long time. What took you so long Ruuben?_

“ _My lady...he lives on the other side of town, which is over an hour’s worth of travel and our horses are not made of iron,_ ” The coachman huffs, and Barrick tenses up. He’d never seen a servant talk back the way he had, in fact never heard a servant gossip like him either.

Henrikka gave him a flat look before rolling her eyes, letting them land upon Barrick. That was when he registered what she was wearing; she wore deep brown trousers, similar to the type women would wear when horseback riding, and a white tunic, fastened at the waist with a leather belt. Her dark hair was loose, and waterfalled down her shoulder in soft waves. Barrick had tried to hide his shock but as usual, the aloofness Barrick had somehow mastered growing up seemed to falter in Henrikka’s presence.

“ _Come in Barrick, you don’t mind if I call you that, do you?_ ” Although her features were fine like the edge of a knife and her eyes sharp, her voice was soft and light, it seemed to remind Barrick of winter nights. “ _You can call me Henrikka of course, actually, I’d insist on it._ ”

“ _Of course…_ ” He contemplated saying her name but held back his tongue.

“ _Ruuben, please fetch some tea, and food - I’m absolutely starving,_ ” Henrikka groaned as she turned on the heels of her boots and made her way into her room. Barrick hesitated at the door frame for a moment, not expecting the coachman, or Ruuben, to leave the two of them alone.

“ _As you wish,_ ” Ruuben said with a mocking tilt of his head and then flashed Barrick a smile as he placed one firm palm to his back and pushed him in, the sound of the door clicking behind him almost deafening.

The first thing Barrick noticed about Henrikka’s room are the books. No, in fact, it’s the only thing he can seem to notice. They’re everywhere; they pour out from shelves that hit the ceiling, they’re piled upon each other from the ground up creating walls, they’re scattered upon the coffee table and hug the back of the sofa’s.

“ _In all fairness,_ ” Henrikka began as she made her way round to the sofas, dropping hard onto the leather cushion. “ _This is what clean looks like._ ”

“ _I had not said anything,_ ” Barrick mused, trying to keep the look of amusement off his face.

The sofas were made of a dark red, like blood once it had dried, the light from the candles reflecting from its leather surface. On the other side of the room was a wooden desk, its legs thick made for cabinets and drawers, its top fitted with compartments for stationary. It wasn’t a Finnish design, he was sure of it, rather Barrick would trace its origin from England.

There’s a two doors just opposite Barrick as he made his way deeper into the room, to which he assumed one was a bathroom, and the other, her bedroom.

“ _It’s written all over your face, as much as you try to keep it off, _” Henrikka retorted and made a gesture for him to sit across her from the coffee table. Barrick accepted her offer, a little more comfortable in her presence then as he became more accustomed to the fact her sharp features did not match her tone.__

__“ _An expert in books makes you an expert in people?_ ” _ _

__“ _You cannot be an expert in books, Barrick,_ ” Henrikka laughed as she unties a ribbon from her wrist, which had been hidden from beneath her tunic and took it to her hair, brushing her locks up into a ponytail. “ _But if you mean I am accustomed to reading people as I am to my...novels, then yes I suppose I am._ ” _ _

__“ _The last thing I assume these books are, are fiction - if you don’t mind,_ ” Barrick asked as he made his way to pick up a book from the coffee table before him. She nodded and he took the liberty of opening it to a random page. “ _You are interested geography?_ ” Barrick asked, flipping through a book of what seemed to be journal entries from Finnish travelers, a lot of them predominantly on their experience in the deserts of the Arabian peninsula. _ _

__“ _Geography, history, science, maths, literature…_ ” Henrikka hummed with a flick of her ponytail, the end brushing against the back of her neck. “ _The world leaves itself in the form a tiny characters on a piece of paper, isn’t it wonderful? It’d almost be a sin to leave it all unread._ ”_ _

__“ _I agree, although I cannot say I share your passion for reading,_ ” Barrick replied, his attention caught on the spine of a book with a language he did not recognize. “ _What language is this?_ ”_ _

__Henrikka gave the book in his hand a long look before flicking her green eyes to Barrick, “ _Arabic, a language that belongs to the people of the desert and the heat._ ” _ _

__“ _Is it for your collection? Or can you read it?_ ” _ _

__A twitch of a smile played on her lips, Barrick watched the way her facial expression shifted with a fiery concentration. “ _I can read it._ ” _ _

__“ _Amazing…_ ” Barrick said, fascinated as he opened the book and traced his finger against the words that looked like nothing but lines and dots to him. _ _

__“ _It seems you have not heard the rumours, although I’d assume if you had, you wouldn’t be here in the first place,_ ” Henrikka said the words with a hint of both bitterness and sadness, but when Barrick went to look at her face, he found it held no emotion. _ _

__“ _Rumours?_ ” _ _

__“ _Have you not been wondering? Why my home is in fact a hospital room?_ ” _A prison_ , Ruuben had said. _ _

__“ _I had but I thought it not polite to ask,_ ” Barrick replied and softly shut the book before him, settling it beside him onto the sofa. _ _

__Henrikka laughed, a sound stuck between a giggle and a scoff, “ _Not polite - oh, you do not disappoint me Barrick. You say the most amusing things with such a straight face..._ ” A smile played on her face for a while, Barrick quickly took the opportunity to sketch into his memory, he had a feeling that it was a rare sight to see. “ _But I suppose I’m glad you did not have some assumptions of me before you met me._ ”_ _

__“ _Is this about what Carl had said at the ball? If you do not mind, please forgive him, the man talks before he thinks, although I can’t say he thinks at all._ ” Barrick said with a slight bow of his head. _ _

__“ _Carl...ah yes, well don’t worry about that. He wouldn’t be the first one to call me a lunatic-_ ” A knock came from the door then and Ruuben emerged with a silver cart, a fine set of porcelain tea cups and a tea pot laid out elegantly upon the top. “ _Ruuben, what took you so long?_ ” _ _

__“ _Water boils, my lady,_ ” Ruuben retorted and Barrick had to bite the inside of his cheek from letting a smile rip against his cheeks. _ _

__“ _God, for an old man, you’d think you’d want to make most of your time,_ ” Henrikka huffed, swatting her hand as a signal for him to hurry over the tea._ _

__“ _Serving you for the rest of my life means whatever time I have left is pointless,_ ” Ruuben said nonchalantly as he began to pour the tea from the tea pot, holding its lid with long fingers. _ _

__“ _No one is forcing you to stay Ruuben,_ ” Henrikka snapped as she snatched the first cup. _ _

__“ _Actually you specifically asked the General for me when you were brought here, my Lady,_ ” Ruuben said as he offered Barrick the second cup._ _

__“ _You also make it sound like I had a choice when ‘the General’ shipped me here,_ ” She murmured into her cup._ _

__Ruuben gave Barrick one last look as if to wish him luck and bowed towards Henrikka, “ _I shall take my leave now, dinner will be served within the hour._ ” He said finally, turning to take the cart with him, leaving the room in a matter of seconds._ _

__“ _If you don’t mind me asking, I had heard you were born here?_ ” It wasn’t that Barrick wasn’t curious about Henrikka after their meeting at the ball, but he wasn’t too keen on hearing the details from Carl, who seemed to be set out on ripping her apart. _ _

__“ _I was born in Savonlinna, what they say about me being a bastard child is true - my father was traveling down from the Russian borders towards Helsinki when he decided...to spend a night with my mother,_ ” Her tone is monotone as she explained, and somehow it made the clink of her cup touching its plate even harsher to hear than it should have been. “ _She wrote him letters for several years, a single woman raising a child...it wasn’t easy, especially since no one wanted to marry a woman already...touched._ ” _ _

__She licked her lips and settled back into the sofa to give Barrick a cool look, as if she were telling a story about someone else, a stranger. “ _It was when I was ten did my father finally come to collect me. Apparently his wife had been burning the letters my mother wrote for years and he’d only found out._ ” She scoffed then. “ _He took me, and left my mother - not that I’d really expect him to marry her but...well anyway, long story short I grew up within my father’s mansion in Helsinki for most of my life. It wasn’t till my brother died a few years ago was I to come public._ ” _ _

__“ _So why are you here?_ ” _ _

__Henrikka half-smiled and went to pick up her teacup, she didn’t go to take a sip from it however, she just held it between her fingers as she spoke, “ _My step-mother - I guess amidst her grief she almost went insane, understandable. But she hated how my father instantly began shifting things towards me, his house in Russia, inheritance...if she hadn’t liked me before, she most certainly did not like me after. Growing up a shadow in that house, I was allowed to be kept to my studies and my books, no one bothered me and I kept out of the public. However, it was that very same fact that got me in here. My step-mother began rumours; I was an ill-fit woman for marriage, a bastard child that killed her brother for money, a lunatic. In the end, it became so bad my father felt I had to be locked up for the sake of gossipers._ ” _ _

__She let out a heavy sigh like she was bored, and placed her teacup back onto the table. “ _It’s almost hilarious, how much the world can change, and shift and grow, and how humans are still subjects to their own emotions. You’d think intelligence would take us further, but our consciousness and feelings always get’s the better of us._ ”_ _

__“ _They put you in here because you...read?_ ” Barrick muttered, dumbfounded. _ _

__Something in Henrikka’s eyes glittered then and a different kind of smile took over her face, “ _In this day and age, and in times before, women have been been killed and locked up for far less. But you’re right, with someone like my father, with all his wealth and power, it wouldn’t be easy to put his only living child away in a place like this._ ” _ _

__“ _You see Barrick, before I continue to explain myself, I felt like I need to inform you of why I asked for you._ ” Henrikka said, leaning closely, her elbows perched on her slim knees. “ _Yes, I had heard of you from Sir Bassi, in fact your name has come round the circle my father socialises with but you had never really interested me that much. It wasn’t until I saw you once, at a market just the north of the centre of Turku, a couple of months ago. Of course I did not know it was you as the Barrick I had overheard but I know you._ ” She looked at him straight in the eye, her green eyes an abyss Barrick could have easily fallen into if he hadn’t had some form of control of himself. “ _You may leave today convinced I am in fact the lunatic people whisper about, or you may come back and visit me more often. Of course I hope for the latter._ ”_ _

__“ _I don’t understand…_ ”_ _

__“ _Barrick, although I may look like this, I am in fact several hundred years old,_ ” She said the words like they didn’t hold an iron weight to them, an amused smile on her face and Barrick blinked four times before she continued speaking. “ _I’ve been born with memories that belong to others, men and women who have lived and died. I was twelve and I knew the ache of old age, I have seen the world in my mind and yet I have never stood foot on anything but Finnish soil. And I have met you, several times, hundreds of times, and I have lost you. I don’t plan to make that mistake again this time, after all I have quite a favourable position in this life._ ”_ _

__Barrick wanted to say something, anything but just air, like dust clouds could puff out from the gaps between his lips. Henrikka watched him closely, her eyes searching deep into his own as if she could see something he couldn’t._ _

__“ _You are talking about...reincarnation?_ ” Barrick said, or at least he thought he did, he couldn’t really tell if he thought or said the words. _ _

__“ _Yes…_ ” She replied, almost cautiously. “ _I have lived many lives, and they have remembered just as I have._ ”_ _

__“ _Why?_ ” _ _

__“ _Excuse me?_ ”_ _

__“ _Why do you remember?_ ” _ _

__Henrikka blinked, a long look of surprise on her face. Somehow she had not expected his reaction, in fact, she must have expected for him to quickly rise up from his seat and leave the asylum without another look over his shoulder. But something compelled him to stay; was it insanity? Curiousity? Or a bubbling infatuation with a women who swam in books so deep she may be living in her own fairytale?_ _

__He didn’t cross out lunacy immediately, but he wasn’t quick to jump to it either. “ _Is that why you’ve been locked up here?_ ” He asked, realising he wasn’t going to get an answer for his first question._ _

__“ _Yes…_ ” She replied absentmindedly as if she was still trying to catch up, not prepared for this turn in the conversation. “ _I grew up speaking languages I had not learned before, it did not...bode well with others. I was a curse in my home town, and a lunatic in my father’s house. It was easy for my stepmother to send me here._ ”_ _

__Barrick flickered his eyes back to the book written in Arabic and then turned back to Henrikka who surveyed him behind glazed eyes. “ _What are you trying to figure out?_ ”_ _

__There’s a moment of silence between them until Henrikka took a hand to her pointed chin and smiled, “ _I was just thinking how every time we meet you never remember, but somehow you’re always the same._ ”_ _

__“ _And what’s that?_ ”_ _

__“ _Collective, open-minded, and kind,_ ” She said the words softly, and the love in her voice almost had Barrick sway to believe her words. “ _Even though you are questioning it now, it is the very fact you have not completely marked me as insane that gives me hope. I’ve done this many times after all, in many different lives, and every time I go around the bush, and take my time to know you, I waste so much time creating this false sense of reality; that we are simply strangers that fall in love, and every time I end up losing you._ ”_ _

__Barrick took his own hand to his chin and rubbed at it, the inside of his head oddly silent. “ _So we’re lovers?_ ”_ _

__“ _We were._ ”_ _

__“ _And we will be?_ ”_ _

__“ _You speak of it as if it were fate, but we are not fate, Barrick._ ” Her voice suddenly turned a deathly solemn, as if speaking from a tunnel so deep there was no light at the end. “ _Every life we’ve had and continue to have we have always had a choice. The only thing that has been set in stone, is that no matter how we may meet, or how we may feel for each other, we will never be together long enough before we must search for each other again._ ”_ _

__“ _But I do not remember,_ ” Barrick said, his voice monotone and his body still. _ _

__“ _No, you do not. So I suppose it’s just an eternity for me searching for you,_ ” She said with a small intake of breath. “ _and you forever forgetting._ ”_ _

 

 

*

Seoul, _2016_

Jinyoung was about to answer Mark’s damp soil question if it weren’t for Mihyun snatching the potted plants out of his hands too soon. After he had told Mark who he was in Finland, someone had taken him over, whilst a creeping coldness had taken Mark.

_We were lovers?_

_No, Mark-_

“Professor, please help!” Mihyun squawked as Jinyoung tried to crawl over the window sill, reaching desperately for the handle.

Mark watched the two of them struggle, a tangle of hands and sprawled legs and sighed heavily. “What are you doing?” Mark murmured as he rose off the bed and leisurely made his way to a suicidal, out of control Jinyoung. “Enough.” He says the single word with about enough exhaustion to relay twenty years of stress and goes to grab Jinyoung from the back of his collar.

He basically chucks him, flings his worryingly thin body across the room and against the bed like he were a rag doll and watched him as he clattered to the ground. Jinyoung’s mumbling now, his eyes spinning across the room as his whispers disperse into the air too quick for neither Mihyun or Mark to catch.

“Mihyun, could you leave the two of us?” Mark asked, his fingers rubbing against the side of his temple.

_You were hiding her from me, you were hiding Jinyoung from me._

_I was trying to protect you._

_No, you simply did not want to face her. You did not want to admit she is here. You may be in my head Barrick, but I’m also in yours._

“Are you sure?” Mihyun squeaks. “What if he goes ape-shit?”

“I can handle it.” Mark says, not taking his eyes off Jinyoung. There’s a moment where Mihyun’s silent questions fly across the room but Mark avoids them with arms crossed over his chest and lips pressed firmly into a line. He doesn’t know exactly how long it takes before he hears the door click shut but when it comes, he feels his shoulder instantly deflate.

Mark takes a slow step towards Jinyoung’s limp figure and takes a seat on the ground before him. His ramblings continue, his eyes distant, and Jinyoung looks like he’s found the edge of the world, ready to simply fall. “Jinyoung, come back,” Mark murmurs half-heartedly, his hand reaching for Jinyoung’s. “Come back.”

The second their skins touch, Jinyoung’s body jolts like electricity snapped through his veins. He blinks like he’s awake, like he’s _here_ , but Mark knows it isn’t him. The moment their eyes meet, Mark knows who it is, and in that instant Barrick violently revolts within him.

_Mark!_

_What happened Barrick?_

_Mark, enough, this is not what I am here for._

_You’re wrong, this is exactly what you’re here for._

Jinyoung moves, slowly, but it wasn’t Jinyoung, it was someone else. Everything from the way he held his shoulders, to the way he angled his jaw, to the sharp look in his eyes, it was Jinyoung and it wasn’t. It was his movements, but they didn’t belong to him.

“ _It has been a long time,_ ” Jinyoung whispers in Finnish, his eyes tracing down to where their hands met. “ _Such a long time._ ”

_Barrick, what happened?_

_I won’t tell you._

“ _You know what’s a stronger emotion than the thirst for revenge, Barrick?_ ” He whispers the words like he were reciting a poem.

“ _Henrikka,_ ” The name slips past Mark’s lips as if it’d been held there for years and he could finally release it. Like a chain around his neck he wasn’t aware of that slipped off.

“ _Do you know Barrick?_ ” She asks like it was rhetorical because she knew he knew. “ _What is stronger than the thirst for revenge?_ ”

“ _Regret._ ” Barrick says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well hey ho, look at that! another confusing chapter. but!! butt!! butts!! its going somewhere, di plot is moving. think this is a very positive out come because honestly while im writing about insane characters, i feel like my own sanity is ah-slipping. 
> 
> i hope you guys are enjoying it tho ;; loool i know i confused a lot of ppl with the last chapter but theres loads more chapters to come (you all sigh) so please be patient!! this isn't going to be perfect as im not a great planner but everything will come together in the end!! 
> 
> anyway, on a diff note, i have made a twitter!!! @silkscrews its basically where ill ramble about my writing, post one-liners, talk about my fics etc. a comfort zone for something i act dnt tlk a lot about with other people. so!! if you'd like have a follow (ofc ill follow back) or just pop in to say hi if ud like :) ur all so lovely in the comments, its like ples be my frend ;; (now im begging it ok im gna shut up and go now, bye!!)


	10. an empire

Barrick slipped away just as fast as he had come.

Mark gasps, numbness pulsing through him. The back of his head aches, and his chest feels like it’s going to cave in and crush his lungs. The world spins for a moment and it isn’t till cool, long hands touch his cheeks does it all seem to halt. 

Jinyoung looks at him in the eyes, and Mark looks back only to find someone else. Barrick’s memories hadn’t fully returned, but some he didn’t have before were there, _she_ was there. “Henrikka,” Mark whispers and Jinyoung’s mouth turns upwards into a small smile that could only belong to her. 

“Barrick?” _She_ calls out and that instantly brings Mark out of his daze. He leans back, slipping away from Jinyoung’s hands. 

“He’s not here…” Mark replies, the inside of his mouth dry. 

Jinyoung shifts then, stiffly, and leans back onto the bed. “Mark?” 

“Henrikka, right?”

Jinyoung’s eyebrows stitch together, giving Mark a calculated look. “Do...you know me?”

“Yes...I remember you,” Mark says, his heart drumming so viciously he felt like he had to concentrate to catch the words that came out of Jinyoung’s lips. “And I remember Barrick.”

“What?” _Henrikka_ says, the expression on Jinyoung’s face reflects her shock and confusion. “How is it possible?”

Mark blinks furiously, “What do you mean?”

“You-” _Henrikka_ brings Jinyoung’s hands up back to Mark’s cheeks. “You aren’t meant to remember- how, how many lives do you remember?”

“Just Barrick…” Mark murmurs, his eyes fluttering down as _Henrikka_ brought their faces close together.

“What happened Barrick?” _She_ whispers mostly to herself. “You’re supposed to forget.”

“I didn’t forget…”

“But you do not remember them all, do you?”

Mark sucks in a breath, “There’s more?” 

_Henrikka_ looks down and takes a comforting hand to Mark’s hair, stroking the strands with a delicate touch. “There’s many of us, we have all lived and died in turn. You have always forgotten, and we have always remembered. But...something has changed in this life, why?”

“What- what has changed?” Mark sputters out, the desperation clear in his voice. _Henrikka_ moves Jinyoung’s hands away and then gets up to her feet, Mark rises too and watches her as she heads towards the window. 

“We have always remembered, I, those before me, and those between me and Jinyoung, we have always remembered each other. But Jinyoung...he was born different...he did not remember.” _Henrikka_ makes a concentrated face, her eyes searching for something from within. “Why? Why didn’t he remember? When did it begin?”

“He told me he started remembering a couple of months ago only, but that he could always speak Arabic,” Mark said, now that he was on his feet, he felt composure wash over him, and he wills his heart to calm down. 

“Yes, his memories are still...fragmented, I’m having trouble grabbing them - this is...wrong,” _Henrikka_ murmurs. 

“It’s wrong he doesn’t remember? How is that possible?” 

_Henrikka_ looks up at Mark with a look of pity, “We are cursed, my dear. For five hundreds year we have remembered, we haunt and comfort each other - ultimately it was the price we had to pay for what we had done in the beginning.” 

“In the beginning?”

 _Henrikka_ looks away, as if to shut herself away from the topic. “It’s strange. You have never remembered before...so why is Barrick here? Why have I come? His memories of me had not been whole until recently, what changed?” She hisses then, fisting Jinyoung’s hands into balls. “They’re here, aren’t they?” 

“ _They?_ Who?”

 _Henrikka_ begins to pace, she holds Jinyoung’s body straight and his chin high as her eyes dance. “A man, a woman, a child, an elder. They are always different, just as we are always different. Just as we may be lovers, family, friends in one life, so are they. We could tell usually, see who people used to be but something is wrong with Jinyoung, something had blocked us from him and now we’ve been forced open. Usually, he would have grown with us steadily, learned to gradually separate us, but they’re all forcing their way in, in a short amount of time and his...body, his mind cannot take it.”

“Who? Who is forcing him? How is that possible? What curse?” Mark felt his own hands shaking, the image of Jinyoung’s vacant eyes, Jinyoung over the bridge, Jinyoung on the street filling his mind. 

“Mark,” Jinyoung’s voice is so clear in Mark’s head, like a knife through the fog. “There are few things you must be clear of before I leave. I cannot stay long, and I must- I must do what I can while I am here. I do not know when Jinyoung will block me out again and I fear if I force myself to stay too long it’ll risk Jinyoung losing himself.”

Mark takes a deep breath and looks up towards him, towards her, and nods. A nod filled with courage, vindication, and something bittersweet. _She_ stares at him fondly, a look of both love and sadness, a kind of look nostalgia had.

“There is another person that remembers. I don’t know who it is in this life, but you must be careful. They are like us and they are not. They have been with us since the beginning.” _She_ looks sad as she says it, a look Mark did not understand while fear swept over him. 

“I thought you said we were cursed?”

“They have cursed us, cursed me and those before and after me, cursed us for eternity.” _She_ says solemnly. “And unless _they_ have changed something, I suspect something has fractured. But I cannot make out what- his memories aren’t complete, but they’re there however...strange…” _She_ looks down, focusing.

“What? What’s strange?”

“There’s a blank- as far as I was concerned whenever we died in one life, we’d be born into the next within a few years but there’s a blank. The last hundreds years worth of life are missing.” _Henrikka_ sighs heavily and goes to rub at Jinyoung’s temple. _She_ then looks up and gives Mark that sharp look of hers. “The last life I can find was in France, during a horrible war, he died due to an explosion. My god...and I had thought this world could only strive to become better but it does not seem to have changed since my time.” 

“Henrikka…”

“Mark, I did not predict your death. Jinyoung and his friend seemed to have thought I was talking about you but I was not, I was thinking of Barrick. I constantly feared for his life you see. That is to say...you must be careful too. Just as Barrick was in danger, you are too. For it is who we were, not who we are, that has put us in this...catastrophe that seems to never end.” _She_ takes a step towards him and goes to hold his hand, and Mark feel’s Jinyoung’s skin against his like a thorn to a rose. “Barrick...I know you can hear me. Do not hide from me. Something has changed, and we must protect these boys for all those of us that could not be protected.” 

Mark could feel Barrick hum deep inside him, a roar of feelings swirling around in his chest; _love, sadness, longing, and...immense regret._ _Henrikka_ stares for long enough to know Barrick is not going to reappear, and the disappointed in Jinyoung’s eyes is almost heart breaking. 

“Mark, one more thing,” _Henrikka_ says clasping Mark’s hand tightly. “Jinyoung knows who you are. He has sensed it for a while now, but he is now aware you remember Barrick, and he is not happy, my dear.” _She_ says this with a small smile and a secret. “I hope you decide to stay, because I assure you running away will not solve anything. Believe me, I have tried before.” She says finally, giving Mark’s hair one last stroke before it goes limp, and Jinyoung falls into Mark’s arms.

*

Turku, _1827_

Barrick ended up returning to Henrikka’s asylum nearly every night after. He’d been sucked in by her dusted words, and her velvet voice. Her stories of places and times so far away they were like folktales upon her tongue, though she had claimed them to be true. Barrick did not refute her, rather he deluded himself in believing, and willed himself to fall into a world of candle light filled nights like stories around a campfire.

He found that Henrikka had a rather peculiar personality, quite like a lion locked up in a cage. She had told him she hated wearing dresses, and that the pins in her hair were incredibly uncomfortable. He’d never met a lady like her; energetic, and eccentric. Her voice would hit heights when she became excited, and her eyes shone like she was a fire waiting to burn. 

She’d sometimes slip, her Finnish fading quickly into other languages, Barrick could hardly recognize half of them, and there were so many he could barely count them on his fingers. It frightened him sometimes, maybe because she was so otherworldly, maybe because of the look she had in her eyes, like she truly was as wise as if she had lived for hundreds of years. 

It wasn’t the idea of believing that bothered Barrick so much, but that he was meant to be intertwined with her, that he was actually part of all the stories she had spun. He’d been told the names, names that he had never heard but that had belonged to him, and felt nothing. He wanted to remember, wanted to see the lands he’d lived upon, the people he had loved, the worlds he’d lived in. 

“ _Every wish comes with a price,_ ” Henrikka had said one night from where she was upon the floor, circled by a wall of books. “ _I speak of only the good because I only wish to remember the good, Barrick._ ” 

“ _But if you were to pretend the bad does not exist, how do you differentiate between what is good, and what is bad?_ ” Barrick responded casually, he was laid upon the sofa, a book snuggled on his chest.

“ _Do not play with your words like that, you fully understand what I mean,_ ” Henrikka huffed, and Barrick smiled to himself, because although he could not see her, he could clearly see the sort of pout she must have had on her face.

 _She is strange_ , Barrick found himself constantly thinking. Strange as she was unique, as she was herself, and as she was several different other people. Rarely, there were those moments, when she’d become someone else almost. Like a possession, a ghost taking over her body, and her eyes looked upon the space around her and Barrick knew she did not see her prison filled with books but she saw a place already crumbled to the ground.

One night, when she had fallen asleep reading, Barrick watched her silently. He did it often, sketched the image of her dark inked hair trickling down her face into his mind, watched the breath she took with the small rise of her chest, and the way her eyes fluttered, like she were dreaming. There was a constant feeling, like something was going to swallow her up and take her away. She was a candle-lit flame, and Barrick worried when the wind would take her.

It was during these meetings of theirs as well, did Barrick feel like drawing the most. When he’d use to spend his nights staring out from his balcony hoping the inspiration would come with the rise of the sun, he instead spent them on Henrikka’s floor, large pieces of paper sprawled across her coffee table, his mind furious with images. He drew grand cathedrals, ridiculous ideas, spiral stairs that grew outwards, wooden doors engraved with portraits, towers so high their tips cut into the clouds. He reimagined the world in this prison, where desert meets the sea, and the sky meets the ground, where rain burns, and snow falls with the sun. He saw it all, through her stories, through her books, through her voice, and her eyes.

He saw it all with her, and he continued to see it, even after she took her last dying breath.

*

Seoul, _2016_

Jinyoung’s been awake for a good two minutes and hasn’t said a thing. He’s lying on Mark’s hospital bed, Mark sitting beside him on the sofa chair. He’s been considering just bolting out the window and ending this suffocating silence but Jinyoung’s stillness makes Mark feel just as rigid. He’s frozen to his seat.

Mark didn’t know what to say first, he feels apologetic, but somehow he thinks saying sorry will do more worse than good. So he just continues to stare at Jinyoung’s forehead, hoping with enough concentration he can make a hole and pluck out his thoughts.

“Ok…” Jinyoung says, still staring dead at the ceiling. He stays still for a second more and then suddenly sits up. “I’m not that mad anymore.”

“What?” Mark squeaks, his voice coming out too high.

Jinyoung looks at him, like he see’s a completely different person, but a person he knew well. Mark couldn’t tell whether he liked that look or not, but he felt he’d shared the same expression when he first saw Jinyoung walk through the door.

“It must have been hard, right?” Jinyoung says low, his eyelashes fluttering downwards.

Mark tries to read his expression, to find something past the daunting, flat look on his face but quickly realises Jinyoung’s just trying to compose himself. Mark sighs then and settles back into his chair, “Don’t give me that look. As if I’ve even suffered half the amount you have.” 

“How long have you remembered?” Jinyoung asks, picking at his fingernails. Mark could sense the impatience buzzing inside him, like he just wanted to burst out of his skin. 

“All my life,” Mark says, finding his jaw stiff. His body was rejecting it, the idea Mark was actually going to confide in someone about what he remembered, about Barrick. He’d been so used to pretending he lived a life of ignorance and bliss, of wonder and adventure, all the whilst burying a grave that never seemed to want to stay beneath the soil. 

“How many lives? Or just the one?” Jinyoung presses, his eyes now on Mark.

Mark feels like he’s on the edge of the world now, watching the sea waterfall into the universe. Men used to sail close to the coast in fear of the edge and yet he found himself sailing out further and further, waiting for the dip and the fall. 

“Just Barrick,” Mark licks his lips, the name odd on his tongue. “I don’t remember the others.”

Jinyoung lets out a shaky breath and dips into his hands, “Jesus christ, what is this?” 

“Fate? Coincidence?” Mark says the words lifelessly. 

“Do you really think it’s fate?” Jinyoung murmurs. “Somehow I don’t like the word.”

“Neither do I. I don’t believe in it. Things happen, we make decisions, whether it makes sense or not. To what extent is it fate, and what is our own decision? Are our decision already known? And if so by who? Why does it matter if some higher being knows what we’re going to decide? Or is fate just the result of our decisions? ” Mark realises he is rattling on too late and his mildly bewildered to find a smile on Jinyoung’s face.

“Even at a time like this you’re such a philosopher,” Jinyoung laughs softly and the noise threads it’s way into Mark and leaves warm burns on his insides. 

“I seem to be only good at asking questions,” Mark says, trying to respond with a smile of his own. “I’ve lived twice the life time questioning the world, and the world has only ever replied with silence.”

“The world…” Jinyoung echos, a whisper to himself. “You know, of all the things I remember, I remember pain the most, not just physical, but the kind of emotional pain where you can’t breathe and feel like your chest is being chewed from the inside out. I’ve killed people, I’ve been killed, I’ve seen war, and I’ve seen genocide, I’ve tasted blood and I’ve had it to on my hands. But it was the loneliness that always hurt the most though, the type of loneliness that’d make you disregard the world because what’s the point of it if you’re alone.” 

Mark understood. He’d felt it his whole life, he’d felt it through Barrick. He’d always wonder what being alone really meant, because what was it like to not be alone? Is it to share your thoughts with another, is it to touch their skin and kiss them to sleep, is it to be with another physically, or is it to understand each other emotionally? Where did loneliness start, and where did it end?

“I’m not leaving Jinyoung,” Mark says, it was a sudden decision, but a decision that settles lightly on his shoulder. It didn’t hold fear, or anxiety, or the crippling feeling that he was falling down into darkness. It was a decision to change, to change him, the future, the past. 

“You should,” Jinyoung suddenly retorts. “Don’t you remember what Henrikka said? You’re in danger, you’re always in danger, and if whoever...she was talking about is really around, then it’s best you leave before they find you.”

“I think they’ve already found me.”

“What?” 

“I’ve received...emails from someone, an unknown ID,” Mark explains. “They kept asking if I had forgotten...they also called me Barrick.” 

“What? Why didn’t you say anything-” Jinyoung bites his lip and leans back into the bed, a look of defeat encompassing him. 

“I’d expected you to be more...angry,” Mark says quickly, his eyes lowering down to his hands where they sat still on his lap. “For keeping it from you?”

Jinyoung looks at the top of his head for a moment before replying, “I guess I kind of knew, or sensed it. Like yeah, Henrikka said I used to be able to tell who you were in every life just by looking at you, but I kind of like the fact I reached out to you without knowing.” Mark looks up at him at that, he was sure there was something he meant between those words but he couldn’t really pick them out. Jinyoung stares back and sucks in a breath, he opens his mouth to speak but the swing of the door takes the breath out of him.

Youngjae walks into the room with a look of displeasure. Mihyun trudging in from behind him with a sheepish, guilty look. “Do you know what kind of trouble you caused in the hospital?” Youngjae starts, staring Jinyoung dead in the eye.

“Youngjae,” Mark calls out as if to tell him to calm down. “You should have just told them where I was if they were going to worry this much.” Mark says, looking over his shoulder. 

Youngjae gives the two of them a look and then raises an eyebrow, “Why is Jinyoung in the bed and you’re not?” 

“Ah, ah!” Jinyoung suddenly jumps off the bed, his legs getting tangled in the sheets. There’s a brief second where everything freezes, Jinyoung midair, the white sheets flapping weightlessly, then he slams into the floor. “Mother fucker-”

Mark leans over the bed, peering at the tangled mess on the floor and sighs into his hand. “He had a...fit then passed out again,” Mark tells Youngjae, watching Mihyun help thread him out of the covers with amusement. 

“You got possessed?” Mihyun blurts out.

“Possessed?” Youngjae repeats, eyeing Mark questioningly. 

“Ah, ah!” Mihyun jumps, laughing awkwardly. “That’s kind of the horrible term I’ve given him whenever he gets into one of his fits.” 

“I see…” Youngjae murmurs. “It seems we’ve got a long overdue meeting Mark.”

“If you want to talk about me-ugh,” Jinyoung starts as he finally gets up to his feet, huffing. “You can just do it in front of me, I’m not a child.” 

“No, you’re a time bomb,” Youngjae snaps, surprising the three of them.

“Youngjae…” Mark calls out with a warning.

Youngjae takes a deep breath and tugs on his ear, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get angry like that. However, do you know the complaints I’ve received because of you two? I just got bombarded by several nurses saying two students from my university came in here throwing fits and threatening people trying to find a professor. What were you thinking?”

“That I needed to find Professor Tuan and if it meant shouting out what university we were from just to get in the right direction, then I did it. Besides you weren’t helping a single bit,” Jinyoung bites back. 

“So? You found him...what did you need so desperately?” Youngjae sighs, sliding his arms across his chest. He looks tired, Mark notes, his glasses weren’t enough to hide how sunken and dark his eyes seem and his cheek bones seem hollowed out like he wasn’t eating. 

Jinyoung bites his lip and looks down, “We’ve sorted it out already.” 

“Youngjae, are you okay?” Mark asks, and Youngjae turns sharply but the moment their eyes meet, the tension in him seems to fade away instantly. 

“I’m fine, Mark, thank you,” Youngjae replies, tugging at his earlobe. 

“Why don’t you two leave for now? You’ve made sure I’m okay, and I’m going to get discharged soon, so don’t worry,” Mark says to Mihyun and Jinyoung, he doesn’t like the impatient look on Jinyoung’s face but he decides to ignore it for now. He understood they had a lot of things to talk about, but honestly, he was already at his limit for one day.

“I’ll visit you tomorrow,” Jinyoung announces.

“You don’t have to-”

“I’ll visit you tomorrow.” He states flatly, and tugs on a strand of Mihyun’s hair as an indication to get moving.

“Feel better, Professor,” She says, bows, and leaves with Jinyoung.

“You look like you need a lie on the bed,” Mark half-heartedly jokes as he gets up from the seat and offers it to Youngjae. Youngjae doesn’t protest as Mark crawls back onto the mattress and he flops into the seat with a heaviness that didn’t match his slim frame. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, I just haven’t been sleeping well,” Youngjae grunts, lifting his glasses with his fingers to pinch at his bridge.

“Too much work?” Mark says. “I talked to Professor Jung the other day, she mentioned you’ve taken over my classes all by yourself. You didn’t have to, there are other teachers that could have shared it with you.” 

“No, I wanted to do it,” Youngjae says. “It makes me feel a little better knowing I’m doing something.”

“You sound guilty,” Mark chuckles and gives Youngjae’s forehead a light flick. “It’s not like you killed me Youngjae, what you doing moping around like that for?”

Youngjae laughs back lightly, “Right? I wonder why. I guess seeing you...so lifeless scared the shit out of me. You can never get used to it you know? Death.” 

“Who could?” Mark says thoughtfully, placing a palm to his own chest. “I mean I still feel weird about it - even falling asleep scares me a little bit now.” 

“How are you feeling?” Youngjae asks, genuine worry pinching at the space between his eyebrows. 

“I’m fine, Youngjae, really,” Mark says, hoping a smile would ease the stiffness that was evident in Youngjae’s shoulders. “I actually need you to get me discharged, I can’t stay in here any longer.”

“But they haven’t figured out what’s wrong with you, are you sure?”

“I’m sure, they won’t figure it out anyway.” Mark shrugs. 

“Is there something you’re not telling me? Between you and Jinyoung? I’m not asking as a professor, but as a friend - although things have gotten quieter, I can’t help but feel like something is different,” Youngjae looks at Mark in the eye, and Mark can see exhaustion and anxiety. He wonders if Youngjae was always so easy to read, or that maybe he never bothered to read him before. 

“What are you asking?” Mark smirks, pulling up a suggestive face. “What could be between me and a student?”

Youngjae rolls his eyes and gives Mark a playful nudge, “Shut up, I didn’t mean that, and you know it. We haven’t had a lot of meetings on Jinyoung but whenever we do, you don’t say much, yet there’s definitely something different.” Youngjae says, giving the door behind him a look. “I get it if you don’t want to tell me, but everything’s okay, right?”

“Everything’s okay…” Mark echos because he really doesn’t know how to answer the question.

Was everything okay? Now that Jinyoung knew about him, he wasn’t sure what was going to happen, or what has already happened. Mark thought his memories of Barrick were just whispers of the dead, things that happened and that can never change, things that should have nothing to do with him. And yet, Henrikka said it, that whatever this _curse_ is, it would play out for eternity, would surpass death, would live in the brains of people like weeds for thousands of years to come. 

Was a curse the same thing as fate? Was Jinyoung and Mark going to meet and suffer again and again until the world simply crumbles into it’s core? Mark was so close, so close to waterfalling down into the universe and slipping away into the darkness. What he learned today sat heavier on him more than anything Barrick’s memories could have, but there was a light, a fracture, an opening. 

_Something has changed,_ and if that was true then Mark was going to grab it by its horns and dive towards the end of the earth.

*

Turku, _1827_

The inside of Carl’s house was ridiculously intimidating. Barrick doesn’t visit his friend often purely because of the outrageous display of money; marble floors and stairs, stairs that belong to ballrooms and royalty. A ceiling hand painted, luxurious, beautiful, colourful, fit for a cathedral, yet lifeless, lifeless like a gold bar in the hand of a man who eats diamonds for breakfast. 

Barrick has a deep frown etched onto his face as he stands in the entrance, having the family's butler strip him of his hat and his cloak as if his hands have suddenly become immobile. “ _My friend, I do have hands,_ ” Barrick said towards the old man who simply returned his words with a polite bow and a turn. 

Barrick huffed and tugged at the collars of his sleeves, trying not to seem completely out of place. He’d become too used to the seclusion of Henrikka’s room, to the darkness and the quiet, that he felt the need to squint now as the sun crashed through the wide windows and reflected off the floors, the walls, the pillars and furniture. Golden frames, extravagant vases, stone statues, engraved plaques, and the rich aroma of perfume was suffocating. If there was a graveyard for superficiality, Barrick believed this to be it.

“ _You look as if you are going to turn to stone,_ ” Carl boomed from the top of the stairs. Barrick flickered his eyes towards his friend who held himself with the same conniving smile and shimmering eyes as he always did. 

“ _Yes, I was just thinking of marrying myself with my good friend Zeus here,_ ” Barrick mused, tapping the statue beside him lovingly. It was just a carving of a head, an old man with curls for hair and a beard, and a crown upon his head. 

“ _That is not Zeus, that is Hades,_ ” Carl snorted as he started to make his way down the steps. His black leather shoes click finely against the marble of the ground and Barrick realised then that he was covered in black, everything from his socks to his dress shirt.

“ _Quite a morbid statue to have at the entrance of your home,_ ” Barrick murmured as he took a sly step away from the stone head, now too conscious of how void its eyes were. 

“ _We received it as a gift a week ago,_ ” Carl said, now just a step before Barrick. “ _Which was rather morbid then because just a couple of hours before we received news of my uncle's death._ ”

“ _Your uncle?_ ”

“ _You do not know him, he moved to England over twenty years ago - shall we?_ ” He beckoned towards a door to the left, one Barrick knew lead to the conservatory. “ _My family spent a couple of days ordering things for his funeral in London, they won’t be back till the end of the month, so I’ve been doing my father’s job whilst he was gone._ ”

“ _My condolences,_ ” Barrick said politely as Carl opened the doors where a large living room revealed itself. It was a space Barrick knew well from his adolescence, where he’d sneak into Carl’s house when he was meant to be studying and they’d play between themselves amongst the expensive art pieces and upon imported rugs. It was a room mostly for decoration then it was for ‘living’, therefore it was rarely entered. 

At the very end, the room opened up to the garden. The conservatory, a glass building attached to the mansion stood wonderfully where bright green grass and flourishing flower beds served as its backdrop. The sun high in the sky, shone down upon a small stained glass table and its slim, elegant chairs made of the same steel. 

“ _It is far too hot today to have tea in the conservatory, it’s practically a furnace in there,_ ” Carl said as he made his way towards the centre of the room, where two large white sofas with golden framed backs faced each other. 

“ _Are these new?_ ” Barrick noted as he followed his friend and sat beside him, finding the cushions far too stiff below him. “ _They are not very comfortable._ ”

“ _Expensive pieces from France, not really meant for comfort as it is for showing off how much money we have,_ ” Carl prodded at the golden stitches below him with a disinterested look. 

“ _But who would create a sofa that weren’t comfortable in the first place? What is the point?_ ” Barrick frowned as he slid forward and opted for leaning more on his calves than he did on the piece of furniture. 

“ _A designer that must have lost his way,_ ” Carl sang with a dramatic flick of his fingers. He settled back into the corner of the sofa, and managed to look incredibly comfortable while doing it. “ _I do beg of you though, when you become some famous architecture, building mansions and churches here and there, that you do continue to at least make ones that stand._ ”

“ _You do not trust my sincerity will last if I were to succeed?_ ” Barrick insinuated with a cock of his eyebrow.

“ _Do not be offended, my friend, I simply do not trust people,_ ” Carl half-smiled, it was softer compared to his usual smirk. “ _People start out with love, until ambition stomps it out, and then success stumps out ambition, and eventually men become nothing but what they thought they wanted. Until suddenly emotions like love, ambition, inspiration, everything that should make a human, human, becomes secondary. Humans have only ever put trust in what they can hold, not what they feel._ ”

Barrick stared at his friend with look of astonishment, he had never heard Carl speak so softly, never heard him speak words so eloquent and insightful. “ _Is everything alright, Carl?_ ”

Carl met Barrick’s eyes and burst out laughing, “ _I do apologize, it would seem the workload is having more of an effect on me than I expected._ ” 

“ _If you need help Carl, I am here, although I may not be an accountant or the sort…_ ” Barrick trailed off. He’d realised then just how much Carl had done for him as he grew up, rather than just being a friend, a companion to keep away the loneliness. Carl had also been there for him when he found himself at ends with his tutor, when he had days he could not pick up a pencil, and even days when he never wanted to pick it up again. Even though he spoke with a sort of arrogance that deserved a smack to the cheek, he always had a fragility underneath the vicious smiles and bitter words. And yet Barrick found himself at a point in their lives where Carl had evidently needed help, and he simply did not know what to offer. 

“ _I did not ask for your presence just for you to show me that sort of face, Barrick,_ ” Carl said with a comforting slap to his shoulder. “ _I simply thought of you last night while I was arguing with one of our accountants._ ”

“ _What part of arguing with your accountant reminded you of me?_ ”

“ _How much I prefer arguing with you instead._ ” The two men give each other a look before bursting into a fit of chuckles, accompanied by nudges and the occasional giggle. They get interrupted by a knock, and a maid enters with a silver cart, upon it is a tower of cakes, biscuits, cheeses and crackers. At the bottom, a jug of water and a pot of tea. 

The two of them both straighten up and clear their throats as the maid pours out the hot tea for them, “ _How would you like your tea, sir?_ ” The maid asked, addressing Barrick without really looking at him.

“ _I can do it myself, thank you very much,_ ” Barrick said with a smile she did not see. She simply nodded and then turned to leave, Mark watching the white ruffles of her dress disappear between the crack in the door. “ _Does your family treat their workers badly?_ ”

Carl has already stabbed his fork into his second piece of cake when Barrick turned to talk to him. “ _We teach them manners, but if I’m honest I don’t really pay attention,_ ” Carl paused then, licking his teeth for a moment as if in thought. “ _Although I think the incident with my father impregnating one of the maids didn’t settle well with my mother._ ” 

“ _What?_ ” 

Carl waved his fork in the air, “ _It was sometime last year, maid disappeared shortly after the dramatics. Not entirely sure if I have a half brother or not._ ” 

“ _I never heard this…_ ”

“ _It was something the household wanted to keep as quiet as possible, and to be honest, I did not care for it._ ” Carl shrugged, picking up the sugar spoon, shovelling four spoonfuls before seeming satisfied. “ _Luckily it was sorted out without rumours coming about, otherwise that would have been a nuisance to deal with._ ”

Barrick sat on his spot feeling a little baffled. He’d always known there was a sort of detachment to Carl that meant he did not care much for others, or their feelings, but somehow after all these years, he’d still manage to say things that surprised Barrick. Maybe because Carl had always grown in the coldness that only metals knew, to live life rigid and calculatively, to look upon others as assets rather than as people. 

“ _On the topic of rumours…_ ” 

“ _Oh, I do not like where this is going already,_ ” Barrick groaned and settled back into the stone cushions. 

“ _There is talks...my dear friend,_ ” Carl said, his hand rubbing at his jaw as he did when something intrigued him. “ _That Lady Henrikka is having a visiter often._ ”

Barrick looked to the side to give his friend a hard stare, “ _Those are not rumours then, you have gone out and investigated either me or her, have you not?_ ” 

Carl huffed and settled back into the sofa, disappointed with being caught so quickly. “ _I had bumped into Hanna at the market the other day, as I was on the way to the back and she had told me you have been leaving nearly every night on a curricle, and not returning till morning._ ” 

“ _And?_ ” Barrick responded casually, reaching out for his own cup of tea. He tended to put two spoons of sugar but he didn’t think of it now as he brought it to his lips and sipped quietly. 

“ _And...I already knew Henrikka was staying at the hospital, and of course, I knew she would be the only one you’d decide to visit all of a sudden,_ ” Carl said, his own voice monotone. Which was odd, because he was asking, and he did not seem the least bit interested, in fact he seemed a little distracted. 

Barrick looked up towards him, and settled down his cup. “ _How did you know she was already there?_ ”

“ _Did you think I called her a lunatic at the ball for fun, Barrick?_ ”

“ _Honestly, yes?_ ”

Carl snorted, a grin wide on his face as he slid up straight and close to Barrick. “ _Although I do take interest and mild enjoyment in seeing others fumble around themselves, this time I’m simply here to tell you to stop meeting her.”_

Barrick blinked, staring down into Carl’s placid face, searching for some hidden motive, a joke or a tease, but there was nothing. “ _I do not understand, why would you care?_ ” 

“ _She is dangerous, Barrick,_ ” Carl announced as if it were a fact as true as the sky is blue. “ _She...is not good for you._ ” 

“ _If this is about her…’mental instability’ then do not worry-_ "

“ _That is not what I worry about,_ ” Carl interjected. “ _She is the daughter of the Governor-general, one wrong move and you may find yourself with a bullet in your head. Just because she is exiled does not mean she no longer matters._ ” Carl put his teacup down and turned to face Barrick. “ _Stop meeting her, Barrick. You’ve just started the works on Turku’s bridges, your career is just taking its first step, do not ruin this._ ” 

Barrick took in a deep breath. He understood what Carl was saying, he was being logical. Seeing a lady every night as it is was already a cause for trouble, but for it to be the Governer-general’s daughter was a completely different matter. It was dangerous. 

“ _You left your family, and you have not seen them in nearly seven years now because you were so determined for your dreams, your goals. That was what I always loved about you, my friend,_ ” Carl spoke softly, placing a palm to Barrick’s cheek. “ _So completely different to me, who was born with their life already set on a course. I do not have ambitions like you, my end has already been set. So, I pray to whatever god there may be, that you do not let this one woman ruin everything. Do you understand, Barrick?_ ” 

Barrick leaned into his friend's hand for a moment before answering, “ _I understand Carl, but she….is not any woman._ ” 

The look on Carl’s face hardened and too quickly his edges put up the wired fence Barrick was accustomed too. “ _A week with a woman and suddenly she isn’t just…’any woman’? Were you always so weak Barrick?_ ” Carl mocked, sitting back into the sofa with an air of displeasure. 

“ _Who has taught you to believe emotions are a sign of weakness?_ ” 

Carl flickered his eyes towards Barrick, and inside them was a blankness, a void of darkness Barrick had never seen before. Carl was many things; mischievous, secretive, brilliant, conniving but he was not lifeless. Yet that was what Barrick saw when he looked into the eyes of the only true friend he had all his life. 

“ _Emotions are exactly what makes the world go round, my Barrick,_ ” Carl whispered the words. “ _They are why wars start, they are why people kill, why people build and create. Emotions have made up the human empire, and they are precisely what will destroy it too._ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *high wailing noise* this was the hardest chapter to write oh my GOD. its so bad, please i know its disappointed dont @ me or @ me its ok cries. things are slowly going to unravel and clear up now, hopefully this is a right step in that direction. im lit the worst planner on this planet i dek what to say
> 
> anyway sighs hit me up if you'd like on twitter @silkscrews ill see u all next week most likely ;;


	11. departing

“This is bullshit,” Mihyun barks from where she is, just at the entrance of the kitchen. Mark arches an eyebrow at the fiery look she has on and leans back in his chair.

“You don’t believe it?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe it,” Mihyun snaps, baring her teeth and stomping into the kitchen, the thick soles of her trainers barely making an impact on the marble kitchen floor. “I just don’t get why didn’t you say anything?” She demands, slapping her palms to the table Mark was sitting at.

“He had his reasons,” Jinyoung defends, twirling an apple absentmindedly in his hand from the corner of the kitchen he’s settled in.

Mark looks at him from the side and then slides his eyes back to Mihyun. He sighs, he didn’t think his first morning back home was going to be an interrogation process and yet here he was.

Somehow, some way, Youngjae had managed to get Mark discharged from the hospital on the condition Mark was to go back for checkups and tests every two days. He keeps a mental note that he owes Youngjae a gift, and a meal, and anything the guy wants after what Mark’s put him through.

That same morning, Mark had come back to an empty house. The flowers and plants in the front yard looked parched, although Insook had been visiting him in hospital almost every day, it would seem no one had been home in days. There was something incredibly uncomforting about the silence - not that Mark had never lived by himself before, but this is a _home_ and homes should not feel empty.

Then again the emptiness only lasted half an hour until the ruthless banging at the front door began and Mark had opened the door to Mihyun and Jinyoung on the other side. Jinyoung looking a lot like he was molested, or mugged, and a little tired, and Mihyun with her ears hot and eyes alight.

“Are you seriously defending him right now?” Mihyun gapes from across the dining space. “This whole time you’ve been suffering like this, feeling so alone...whilst really you had someone that not only knows what it feels like but someone who you met before. Not to mention he knew about it too!”

Mark winces at the accusation, but tries to keep his face emotionless, because she was right and he didn’t have a right to feel upset. On the other hand, Jinyoung takes in Mihyun’s words with a look of feign interest and then shrugs.

“Did he just _shrug_? Did you just shrug?” Mihyun exclaims in a high tone, she takes a deep breath and turns her back on the two of them. “This is ridiculous.” She mutters under her breath and then turns back round. “Am I the only one that thinks this situation is outrageous?”

“Well I think we crossed outrageous a while ago, “ Jinyoung jokes and now Mihyun looks close to committing murder.

“No, you’re right,” Mark quickly interjects, the last thing he wanted was blood on Insook’s floor. “I should have mentioned it, maybe it would have comforted you, maybe it wouldn’t but I should have mentioned it. I’ve remembered my whole life so I guess I got used to hiding it, to pretending there was nothing different about me. The thing is though I didn’t really know who you were until yesterday, I just knew we came from the same place because of the blueprints on your wall.”

Jinyoung isn’t looking at him as Mark speaks, he’s staring off into the distance somewhere and Mark can’t tell if he’s listening but he continues speaking anyway, “I thought acknowledging it was pointless, after all what could you do with memories about people who have already died? Sure, it’s not _normal_ to remember but I guessed that if we did remember then we just have to get used to it and live life the best we can.”

“But it isn’t like that, is it?” Mihyun says, her voice softer now as she meekly took the seat before Mark.

Mark looks at her for a moment and then looks up in thought, “No...it isn’t. We’re not meant to remember, specifically though, I’m not meant to remember.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mihyun asks.

Mark turns to look at Jinyoung who has gone back to twirling the apple in his hand, “You remember what Henrikka said, right?”

Jinyoung looks like he isn’t going to respond but he eventually breathes out a “Yes…”

“She said we, or they are cursed, that they were meant to remember due to some other...,” Mark mumbles, his own understanding of the situation a muddle. “But I wasn’t supposed to remember. I was never meant to remember.”

“You’re not supposed to? I don’t get it, so then you’re just like everyone else, why are you tangled up in his shit?” Mihyun huffs and sits back in her seat, wrinkles on her forehead forming.

“I think we’ve always been together, but where I’m not supposed to remember, he is, but she mentioned something changed…” Mark trails off.

“You remembered when you weren’t meant to, and Jinyoung forgot when he wasn’t meant to?” Mihyun says, nodding as if anything could make sense right now.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jinyoung starts all of a sudden, his eyes still look distant as he speaks. “You guys mentioned once...one of my fits I was speaking Japanese…”

“Yeah, a couple of weeks ago you kept asking someone to save you…” Mihyun says.

“I’ve trying to remember, grab something, anything but I can’t - there’s nothing, no life I remember, no inkling or a fragment, nothing that relates me to Japan, I don’t even know a single word but _gomenasai_ and that’s definitely not from a past life.”

Mihyun snorts and Mark doesn’t get it.

“Do you think it’s from the last life you had?” Mark ponders, his eyes were caught on a flower pot that hung just outside the kitchen door, upon it were small pink to white flowers, their petals wide and arched like that of a windmill. Mark vaguely remembers Insook talking about them, the oleander flower - it makes him wonder where Insook is.

“What do you mean? Jinyoung says, his voice demanding, quickly pulling Mark’s attention back.

“Henrikka said you have a block. She mentioned the last life that was accessible was you in France during the first world war and that after there’s a blank of nearly a hundred years. Maybe between then and now is your life in Japan, or something related?”

Jinyoung takes the apple in his hand to his mouth then, and drags out a long crunch. Mark watches him as he works his jaw, chewing absentmindedly on the fruit. He was thinking about something, Mark could tell, he could tell the difference now between when he was stuck in the past and when he was trying to figure out the future.

“Why though? What happened for something to fuck it up?” Mihyun grumbles.

“Five hundreds years is a long time, nothing stays the same forever, not even curses I guess.” Mark takes a deep breath looking down at the table where he notices he’s made several scratches into the wood with his nails. He takes his hand back into his lap and rubs at his palm.

“How does that even make sense? Were you guys like hexed or something by a witch-” Mihyun gasps then, loud. “Don’t tell me witches and magic are actually a thing too, oh my sweet jesus.”

Mark arches an eyebrow at her, “What even got you there?”

“Well, how does it make any sense? Some...thing forcing you guys to forget or remember past lives, like how does one person even go about doing that even if they wanted to? Magic? Demons? Voodoo?” Mihyun has a face of both intrigue and fear, Mark could feel her buzzing on the inside, two parallels pulling at her. One side which defied reality, logic, which wasn’t really an issue for her but it also came with fear, that there was way more to this world than met the eye, and the other side, that straight out drove towards wonder, and imagination, to things no one could possibly understand and it lit a spark inside her. “Not to mention...why? Why would someone want to curse you guys? Like what kind of bad shit must you have done to warrant 500 years worth of a curse?”

“Not Mark,” Jinyoung says, dumping the core of his apple into the bin. Mark stiffens a little bit, not used to hearing his name on Jinyoung’s tongue. He doesn’t watch him as Jinyoung makes his way towards the table, grabbing the seat beside Mihyun. “Just me.”

“What do you mean?”

Jinyoung has his hands on the table, he’s flicking at his fingernails, a complacent look on his face. “I don’t really know but judging from what Henrikka said yesterday...we did something...in the beginning.” Jinyoung frowns. “I can’t remember...it’s so vague in my head, but I did something, and I deserve this.”

Mark mirrored his frown, the inside of his chest twisting with a protective kind of emotion. “What makes you think you deserve this?”

“I don’t know...I don’t know but I just _feel_ it.” Jinyoung says, placing a palm over his own chest. Mark doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Okay so...there’s a first life which you can’t remember but you know it’s the beginning of all this shit?” Mihyun begins to conclude. “Then there’s a life, your last life, that you also can’t remember, where something must have happened and broken all this shit?”

“Does your vocabulary expand past curse words?”

“I think curses are pretty relevant right now, Professor,” Mihyun snaps, it seems she still hasn’t forgiven Mark yet. “Anyway, we have a beginning, and an end - so what does Henrikka and...Barrick, is it? Where do they come into this?”

Mark didn’t think about that, “I don’t...know. Barrick’s life is the only one I remember but to be honest, I don’t know why I remember him of all the ones I could remember.”

_I feel like I should be offended._

_Shut up._

“Do you remember, Professor?” Jinyoung says, looking up at him. Mark holds his breath, not realizing this was the first time since yesterday their eyes had met. “When Henrikka first appeared she said something, she asked what was stronger than a thirst for revenge?”

“Yeah...and Barrick said… _regret_ ,” Mark murmurs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mihyun barks from the side.

_Barrick?_

No response.

“I don’t know, I still haven’t got full access to Barrick - funny, I’d been blocking him out all my life, and now that I want to let him in, he decides to block me out,” Mark sighs, trying not to be too self aware of how intense Jinyoung’s gaze is on him.

“Uh, Jinyoung honey, you stare any harder and you’re going to make a hole in the Professor,” Mihyun whispers pointlessly from the side. Jinyoung blinks out of his daze and instantly his cheeks flush into a bright pink. “Oh _boy_.”

Mark looks away quickly, and clears his throat. “Anyway, do you remember anything? About Henrikka that might help?”

Jinyoung brushes a hand through his hair and rubs his face, “I remember her, being her, how she felt, felt about others..but anything...significant...no.”

Mark swallowed down air and felt something contract in his chest, like someone had just brought a knife and sliced right into his heart.

_Barrick?_

Still no response.

“I don’t know why I keep thinking all these lives of yours die of old age or something,” Mihyun grumbles, a look of pity on her face. “Are you guys murdered in every life or something? How did Barrick go?”

“I-I don’t know,” And Mark didn’t, and he did. He remembers the piercing pain of something ripping into him, he remembers heat, his heart thrumming frantically, then he remembers the cold, a deep, aching cold that swallowed him and took him into the darkness. He remembers the feeling, but he couldn’t conjure the memories.

“Well, this is all absolutely fucking useless,” Mihyun huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Your endearments are greatly appreciated Mihyun, “ Jinyoung says with a roll of his eyes. “In fact, since we’re on the topic, why are you even here?”

“Ouch, that hurts Jinyoung, really after all we’ve been through?” Mihyun mockingly flutters her eyelashes and Jinyoung looks like he wants to punch her in the face. “Besides who is it that comes to my room almost every night to pine over the p-” Jinyoung slaps a hand to Mihyun’s mouth.

“Another word, and I’ll snap your neck,” He seethes between his teeth and Mihyun quickly shoves his hand away.

“Wow!” She gasps, glaring hard at the other boy. “I totally don’t get why anyone world ever want to curse you for 500 years.” She says and Mark lets out a snort.

“For someone who has been forgetting for those exact 500 years, should you be laughing professor?” Jinyoung snaps, his cheeks still a light pink colour.

“Better late than never?” Mark teases, flashing his teeth and it seems to make Jinyoung crumble on the spot.

“I hate the both you,” He says into his palm.

“Hey, at least I know I’ll forever live on in your memories for the next 500 years,” Mihyun grins.

“Kill me now.”

“We all know that’s pointless.”

Jinyoung gives them each a look of defeat before slamming his head down onto the table.

 

 

*

The skies are clogged with thick grey clouds, so heavy Mark thinks they're going to sink down to the ground and suffocate the streets. Despite that, the air is still pretty thick with humidity, summer heat lingering despite the rain that threatened to fall.

Mark doesn’t wait on chance though and instead takes the initiative to go water the plants in the front yard himself. He didn’t want to think of how devastated Insook would be if she came back to find her blue bird vines rotting away alongside that rickety bench.

“Didn’t take you for a gardening type of guy…” Jinyoung says from behind, he’s leaning against the frame of the front door looking both tired and suave at the same time. Mark wonders how that’s even possible considering the jogging bottoms and t-shirt he’s sporting but he decides not to ponder on it too long.

“How do you know? I could be a gardening type of guy,” Mark replies back unconvincingly, death spraying down the sunflowers that grew at the very front of the garden.

“Well for one, you look like you're drowning those plants not watering them,” Jinyoung snorts, coming up to snatch the hose out of his hand. “And secondly, I know you’re not a garden person, like I know you’re not a book person.” He says casually as he goes to press his thumb against the hose and let’s the water spray outwards in a large triumphant display.

“What makes you think I’m not a book guy?”

Jinyoung gives him a sly look from the side. “That one time I, uh, saw you go into you in the library, you looked like you were going to get stung if you even reached out for one of those books.”

“That does not prove I am not a book person, I love books,” Mark retorts and Jinyoung gives him a look. “Ok, so I’m not a book person, lucky guess.”

Jinyoung snorts, “I also know you’re not one for eating proper meals when you should be. You always go to the snack cart for lunch.”

“Okay, now you’re guessing is starting to sound a lot like stalking,” Mark says and although Jinyoung tries to keep a placid face on, he can’t hide the rosy tint to his cheeks.

“I was not stalking,” Jinyoung says eventually. “I just always noticed you for some reason.”

“Because of the past lives thing?”

“No…” Jinyoung looks up at the sunflowers, they were tall, just a couple of centimetres longer than the two of them. Insook really knows how to grow them. “You just always stood out to me, even before the memories started.”

Mark didn’t know what to say because all he’s thinking is _you stood out to me too_. Whether it was on days where he seemed carefree, all smiles and laughter, or when he looked like the world was sitting upon him and he’d give nothing more than to bleed into the ground. He wasn’t going to tell Jinyoung that though.

“I see,” Is all he says, and Jinyoung turns to give attention to the moldy wooden bench and the flowers that twisted at it’s arms and legs, and grew in the beds beneath it.

“What about you?” Mark says, circling on his heels. “Who are you without all the memories?”

“‘Who am I…?’” Jinyoung pauses. “I don’t really know, everything before all this...crap seems like a dream, like it wasn’t real. I never knew what I wanted to do with my life either, that’s why I’m still a twenty four year old student.” He snorts. “I was still trying to figure out my life, my future, who I was and then boom, I was like a hundred other people.”

Mark goes to crouch on his knees, tugging on the lamented leaves of the gardenia plant before him. “I think you’ll be fine though, when you’ve learnt to separate yourself from them. You’ll realise they make up who you are as a whole.”

“Kind of like being born with a sixth toe?”

Mark coughs out a laugh, “Something like that.”

Jinyoung makes his way round with the hose and begins watering the plants from beside Mark. “You said you blocked out Barrick for your whole life but you seem pretty content with him now...what happened?” Jinyoung asks, peering down at Mark with a curious expression.

“I died,” Mark says. “No, it wasn’t just that...I think you had something to do with it.”

“What did I do?”

“It wasn’t that you did something, it was more like I saw myself in you, and the more I saw you, the more I saw Barrick, who he was, how he felt and slowly I think I was starting to let him slip back in.” Mark explains, stretching his hand out to the water that sprayed out towards the flower beds. He revels in the feel of the cold droplets settling upon his palm for a moment. “Then I died.”

“Do you really not have any idea what happened?”

“No, not a single clue. It was after I talked to you in the library, I felt Barrick stronger than I ever had before and I just wanted to sleep. Next thing I know I’m waking up in a hospital room and Youngjae’s telling me my heart stopped,” Mark takes a deep breath, a palm to his chest in comfort.

“What did it feel like? Death…” Jinyoung asks quietly.

“Shouldn’t you know what that feels like more than me? After all you’ve died god knows how many times,” Mark says lightly, not liking the way the solemn look on his face made him feel.

“I know what dying feels like but not death, not _real_ death.” Jinyoung says, his eyes distant again and Mark finds himself wondering just what he was thinking about for the fifth time today.

“I don’t really know,” Mark huffs, getting back up to his feet. “I guess the only word that comes to mind is...weightlessness.”

“Weightlessness…” He echoes, and Mark thinks he sees a ghost of a smile on his face.

“I don’t think you should be so worried,” Mark finds himself saying without really thinking.

Jinyoung blinks and looks towards Mark, “What do you mean?”

“You’re worried, right? That’ll you’ll lose yourself to them,” Mark says, and Jinyoung shrinks back a little. “But I don’t think you should be. I see you, beneath it all, beneath them, you’re still here.”

Jinyoung’s eyebrows crease together ever so slightly, “How would you know? You didn’t know me before...it all.”

“I just do,” Mark shrugs. “I can tell when you are here, and when you’re not. I can tell when you’re remembering and when you’re thinking. In fact I’m sure of it.”

Jinyoung’s voice is hoarse when he speaks again, “Ah...you really have a way with words.” He takes a deep breath and quickly makes his way to the tap. Mark watches him as he takes his time in turning the metal gear, the water spraying from the hose slowly sputtering to a stop. Jinyoung looks down for a long time before he straightens out and takes a deep breath. “How do you that?”

“Do what?”

“Know exactly what I need to hear…”

“Wisdom.” Mark retorts and although he was being semi-serious he smiles at the snort that bursts out of Jinyoung.

“Jesus christ, you know I’m a couple of hundred years older than you, right?” Jinyoung chokes out, holding his stomach.

“Just a couple,” Mark chuckles and makes his way to Jinyoung where he takes a palm to his head and strokes his hair fondly. Jinyoung looks at him through his bangs and Mark tries not to retract his arm at the speed of light as an uncomfortable feeling bubbles in his chest.

“I wanted to ask,” Jinyoung suddenly says, Mark way too aware of the way he bites his lip.

“Shoot.” Mark says and stiffly lowers his arm until it flops awkwardly at his side. Jinyoung doesn’t seem to notice, _thank god._

“You mentioned these...emails you received before at the hospital?” Jinyoung probes delicately at the topic. “I was wondering if I could see them? I mean now that we’re pretty much involved in this shit together we might as well try to figure out everything we can...together and stuff.”

Mark raises his eyebrows, “And stuff?”

Jinyoung clears his throat, “Yeah, like work together, tell each other everything...relevant, non-relevant too-if you want- and maybe, I guess I’m hoping we can break whatever this _curse_ is.”

Mark lets the words roll around in his head. He hadn’t actually thought about it, _breaking the curse._ It sounded like something out of a fairytale, but a tad more dark, okay, a lot more dark, like shaking a dead bodies hand dark.

“Yeah...you’re right, Henrikka mentioned something has changed, and I guess for the sake of ourselves and the people before us, after us, we should do what we can while we can,” Mark says the words out loud like they’d click some switch inside him but he couldn’t help but worry a little about the safety of the two of them. “Do you think we’re safe?”

Jinyoung stares at him, an answer playing around somewhere in his head and he doesn’t respond for a while. “I don’t know, I’ve never felt like my life was in danger-well, not by someone else at least. It’s the twenty first century after all, I’d like to think killing someone isn’t so easy now.”

Mark snorts, “Killing someone isn’t the tough part, getting away with it is.”

“That sounds morbid.” Jinyoung scowls.

Mark snorts again and slaps a hand to Jinyoung’s back, “Come on, I’ll show you the emails.” He says and Jinyoung easily follows his lead back into the house. Mark audibly sniffs once they’re inside, the front door shut behind them, “What is Mihyun doing?”

“Making pancakes,” Jinyoung says, following Mark up the stairs. “She said she needs sugar when she’s stressed, she’ll call us when she’s done.”

“I’m surprised that you told her everything to be honest. I didn’t think you’d tell anyone but me,” Mark says once he reaches the landing and internally winces at how jealous he’d just sounded. He hopes Jinyoung did not hear it like that.

“Well, it’s not like I’m trying to keep it a secret - actually it’s pretty hard to keep it a secret but I guess it depends on the person. When I know the first thing they won’t do is call the psychiatric hospital then I’m pretty open about it, besides Mihyun is different altogether.” Jinyoung says as they make their way down the hall. Mark wants to ask exactly what he means when he says she’s _different_ but decides he’s treaded enough on the possessive zone. A zone he wasn’t sure how he got close to to begin with.

Mark didn’t think to be so conscious of his room until Jinyoung steps into it and gives the space a mildly surprised look. “This is your room?” He says, not in any form of judgement but rather like he wasn’t expecting it. “Aren’t there like three others rooms that probably seem more comfortable?”

Mark goes to sit at his desk and opens his laptop, while it turns on he twists round in his chair and perches his elbow on the back, “I’ve been fighting Ahjumma about it since I moved in, even though I tell her I’m more than comfortable here, she doesn’t believe me.” Mark shrugs, a shy smile appearing on his face. “Although if I’m being honest...it kind of reminds me of Finland. The bare walls and floor, the crappy creaky windows...even the air when it gets cold or hot.”

Jinyoung takes in the room for a moment longer and then goes to sit on the edge of the bed just behind Mark. He feels the blanket from beneath him and then looks up to Jinyoung and smiles, “I get what you mean..you know in German there’s a word, Fernweh, for feeling homesick or nostalgic for a place you’ve never been to before. You think people that experience that feeling, they’re just getting glimpses of their past lives?”

“Maybe…” Mark gives it a thought. “Actually...probably. You know people are made up of their environment, their actions, the people around them, but sometimes...there’s feelings, emotions and thoughts that seem to conjure inside you and you can’t think of a logical explanation for them, you can’t find a cause. I saw it in one of my older sister’s a lot, Erica, she’s the only person I could recognize from the past.”

Jinyoung immediately sits up at that, “Who was she? How did you-?”

“It was when I first realised Barrick’s memories, I saw my sister and I kept seeing someone else, later I realised it was Hanna,” Mark thinks about his sister and how he hasn’t answered her calls for a week straight, and how she’ll probably ring his neck somehow, some way, through the phone.

“Hanna? I don’t think I recognize the name…”

“She was Barrick’s neighbour in Turku, he pretty much grew up under her care, honestly the fact she’s my older sister now really fits,” Mark smiles fondly.

“How come you could see her but you couldn’t see me? Or...anyone else for that matter?”

“I don’t really know...I guess it was before I completely shoved Barrick out. Back then his memories were pretty out of control, being twenty at the age of twelve wasn’t really the kind of puberty phase I was expecting.” Mark jokes and turns back to his laptop to find the desktop loaded, he immediately goes to open up his email.

“Is Barrick really the only life you remember?” Jinyoung asks and Mark doesn’t turn around to see what kind of expression he has on while asking the question.

“Yup, and he came in by some extreme force, I haven’t got a single clue about the others,” Mark replies, tapping in his login. He pauses, his hands hovering of the keyboard. “What about you? Do you know who I am in all your lives?”

“Yes, from what I remember at least, I always knew who you were,” Jinyoung sounds a little tired and Mark looks over his shoulder to find him looking out the window, the look of reminiscence completely shrouding his face. “But it didn’t always go how I wanted. Some lives you’re already married, other lives we’re the same gender, a lot of the time class got in the way. It didn’t matter though, whether we were friends, acquaintances, or lovers, you always slipped away.”

“Slipped away?”

Jinyoung looks at Mark then, “Killed. Murdered. Depends how you put it...whether it was in a freak accident or you were just an innocent victim of a hit and run. Either way, whenever I found you, it was never for long. And I knew when you went, it’d be me right after.”

Mark shivers, a new fear sprouting in the depths of his chest and grappling at his lungs. _Death_ , he never really thought about it, let alone being brutally murdered. “Why does it feel like more problems are forming then getting solved?”

“More like the problems have always been there but we’ve just realised them,” Jinyoung says bitterly. He really looks tired now, like he couldn’t hold up himself up anymore.

Mark quickly turns back to his laptop and opens up the emails, “Come take a look.” Mark insists, hoping to distract Jinyoung a little bit.

The bed creaks from beneath Jinyoung as gets onto his feet and peers down at the screen. He leans over Mark, his hand perching on the table, his neck just craning over Mark’s shoulder. He smells of soap and heat, and Mark thinks of how much it suits him.

“Not much...talk about being cryptic,” Jinyoung mutters under his breath, and Mark tenses at how close he is to his ear.

_Barrick, what are you doing?_

_What do you mean?_

_You’re making me uncomfortable._

_Well, that is not new news my friend, but I sincerely have no idea what you are referring to right now._

Mark grimaces as Jinyoung scrolls down to the painting of Turku in ashes and visibly flinches. “Ah...shit.” Jinyoung removes his hand from the mouse and shrinks back. Mark turns and finds Jinyoung stiff where he’s standing.

“What’s wrong?”

“Sorry,” Jinyoung clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Flashbacks, bad ones. Wow...hmmm.” Jinyoung hums, rolling out his shoulders. “Sorry, I’m okay, do you know what that picture is of?”

“No, not really,” Mark mumbles, noticing the cold sweat that was beading at Jinyoung’s temples.

“You never searched it? On the internet, I mean?”

“No...I- uh don’t really like going on the internet,” Mark awkwardly admits, and it warrants him a raised eyebrow from Jinyoung. “Irrational fear of knowledge, kind of why I’m not a book person. It makes more sense in my head, please continue.”

Jinyoung looks like he has more to say on the topic but decides against it and huffs, “It’s a painting of Turku by Gustaf Finnberg after the great fire.”

“The great fire? When-” Something tugs on Mark’s insides, pulling harshly and he takes in a quiet gasp at the sudden pain that shoots down his spine.

“Fourth of September 1927, it was the fire Henrikka died in,” Jinyoung continues, unaware of the sudden tension in Mark. “After I died in Finland, and began my life in France, once I got a clear understanding of the past I immediately went to research about what happened. There was just that picture from it all.”

 _I’m so sorry,_ Barrick whispers, the voice in Mark’s head filled with agony. _I’m so sorry._

“Barrick,” Mark gasps, he had meant to think it but it slipped out with another gasp of pain.

“Professor?” Jinyoung calls out. “Professor, are you okay?”

“I’m fine…” Mark wheezes between his teeth, clutching desperately at his chest.

_I’m so sorry, Henrikka._

“Why are you apologizing?” Mark asks under his breath, the pain cutting deep into his insides and traveling up the back of his neck until it reached his head and everything began to throb.

_I killed her, I killed her._

“Mark, what is going on?” Jinyoung’s on his knees now, looking up at Mark’s face. “Is it Barrick?” As if to support him, Jinyoung goes to grab the hand Mark had been using to keep upright on the chair and placed it on his shoulder, in turn Mark grips it tightly, not missing the wince in his face but not being able to really loosen his grip either.

“He’s apologizing to Henrikka,” Mark whispers, pain threaded in his voice. “He said he killed her.”

Jinyoung didn’t look particularly shocked, instead his eyes moved side to side as if he was trying to piece something together. Mark tries to keep focus but the pain turns into heat, a painful heat that pulses in his chest and grows outwards. He sucks in a breath and gives in to weakness for a brief moment, letting his head settle down upon Jinyoung’s shoulder.

“Mark,” Jinyoung says close to him. “He didn’t kill her.”

Suddenly, and all at once, a skin biting cold washes over Mark, like he’d just been dunked into a bathtub of ice. He flings himself back in shock and in the process the chair slides from beneath him, toppling him to the ground. Jinyoung quickly goes to reach out to him, an attempt in cushioning the fall but they just became a clutter of limbs and in the end Mark finds himself on his back, staring up at his ceiling.

Jinyoung pops his head just above, his hair shadowing his face slightly, “You okay?”

“Peachy,” Mark sighs and goes to sit up.

“What was that?” Jinyoung asks, staring at Mark curiously.

Mark takes in a deep breath, “Barrick dying.”

“What?”

The inside of Mark’s mouth is dry and no matter how many times he tries to lick his lips he can’t seem to get rid of the sticky feeling. His body aches, and he’s covered in sweat. “It seems I can’t get a break these days.” Mark huffs and gives Jinyoung a tired look. “It’s kind of like when you get ‘possessed’ sometimes Barrick’s emotions, or his memories, become so vivid that I almost relive it. The last time it happened was when I was fifteen though…”

“Was it because we talked about the fire?”

“I think so…” Mark rubs at his chest and takes the kind of deep breath that hits the bottom of his lungs. “Do you know what he was talking about?”

“Sort of...I didn’t really want to dig too deep into the memory, it kind of hurts as you probably know but he didn’t kill her, I’m pretty sure about that...anyway shouldn’t you know more than me?”

Mark shakes his head, “I told you, he’s blocked some things from me, like he doesn’t want to remember them. I just constantly get this immense feeling of regret.”

“Regret?” Jinyoung repeats. “He didn’t die in the fire though, did he?”

“No...or at least it doesn’t feel like that.”

“I don’t get it, how he can block you from seeing his memories? Like shouldn’t you dominate over him?”

“I guess but I think the fact I wasn’t ever meant to remember in the first place gives him an advantage. Then again maybe I’m able to access them and I just can’t - I can feel them there, so vague, but it’s like trying to remember childhood memories and all you can grab is the colours, the feelings sometimes, an image.”

Jinyoung nods, understanding and it earns him a wide smile from Mark. “What you smiling for?”

Mark takes a hand naturally back to Jinyoung’s head and strokes his hair down, “You say I have a way with words but I think you’re the only one that really understands them.”

Jinyoung looks up between the bangs Mark has flattened down past his eyebrows and scrutinises his lips into a little pout, “Professor…”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Do you always have to ask about asking?” Mark chuckles.

Jinyoung looks at him with a deciphering stare and then huffs, “You don’t see me as a child do you?”

Mark stops stroking mid motion and looks down at Jinyoung with slightly wide eyes, “Huh?”

“No, I mean, I get you're a professor and I’m a student but it’s not like you think of me as some loving nephew do you?” Jinyoung asks looking up from the shadow of Mark’s arm.

He’s stiffened however, his hand frozen just above Jinyoung’s head and he’s got absolutely no clue how to respond, so instead he answers with a question. “Am I making you uncomfortable? I’m sorry-” Mark goes to remove his hand but Jinyoung quickly goes to grab at his wrist and slowly brings Mark’s palm back to the top of his head.

“That’s not what I said,” Jinyoung says, his grip still on Mark. “I asked if you-”

“Pancakes are ready!” Mihyun announces from down stairs, her voice startling Mark and Jinyoung apart. “Come now while they’re warm or I’ll kill you both.”

Jinyoung looks over his shoulder towards the door, “What makes her think that threat is scary to either of us?” He laughs and then goes to get up. “You coming, Professor?”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead,” Mark shoos with his hand. Jinyoung gives him one last look before turning and heading for the door. The click of the door was a cue for Mark to slump down onto the floor and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in.

He tells himself he needs to get up and go downstairs and act perfectly normal like a touch and a word from his student didn’t just trigger his soul departing from his body, but really all he’s thinking is _what have you done, Barrick?_ and getting no response what so ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this was a chill chapter for me mostly but hopefully for u guys too LOLS 
> 
> fun fact (not really that fun): theres an actual picture of the great fire of turku i was referring to if (also a wiki page) if you guys want to see what it looks like~
> 
> hit me up if you'd like @silkscrews, dnt feel shy about asking me questions or just saying hi, im lit just begging for frIENDS LOOL /crashes into the ground


	12. you are fire

Turku, _1927_

Barrick could feel Summer slipping through his fingers. It was faint but the nights had grown darker, and Barrick couldn’t help but feel something else was disappearing with the sun a little more each night. 

It’d become some sort of an addiction, an incessant need to visit the asylum and spend his insomniac induced nights reading books he’d never thought to even touch before. It was sort of ironic, how much his world had opened up in the prison that belonged to Henrikka. He’d become a volunteer prisoner, spending his time under the shadows the bars casted and moulding a shape of himself in the cushions of the sofa he silently claimed. 

He’d thought of what Carl had told him. To Barrick’s dismay, his friend was right, if rumours were to sprout it’d cause...problems. Especially if her father, the Governor-general, had caught whiff of the fact a man was visiting his unmarried daughter every night, Barrick may just end up with an ‘accidental’ bullet in his head. 

More than that, however, he thought about what it’d to do Henrikka. To grow up in seclusion and under locks, to contain yourself when you were a firework ready to burst, to have others look upon you like you’d lost half your mind when really her mind was wider, more colourful than any other human Barrick had ever met. 

She was wonder, and fire swallowed down, and Barrick couldn’t bare to leave her alone.

She’s staring at her overflowing shelf, books hanging out from the gaps she shoved them in and everything was a cluttered mess of puzzle pieces that didn’t fit forced together. 

“ _I feel as if...everything is going to fall upon my head if I were to even try and take a book out,_ ” She muttered to herself, a long pointed finger tapping against her chin. “ _I must reorder everything._ ”

Barrick sat up from where he was on the sofa, the book he was reading on the Ming Dynasty and the Hongwu Emperor slid from his hand and onto his lap. Henrikka had said those kind of historical books were rather rare to purchase, especially because they had been translated, and insisted on Barrick to read it because of the amount of money put towards obtaining meant that it needed to at least be read by more than one person. 

Barrick perched an elbow onto the back of the sofa and stared at Henrikka’s slim back. She was wearing a dress today, which was rare, but it was thin upon her shoulders and it didn’t carry any heavy embroidery or ruffles. It was of a light pink, almost peach, and it contrasted against the deep black of her hair that sat upon her head in a tight bun. 

“ _Where would you even start?_ ” Barrick mused, satisfied to see the sharp look she had given him over her shoulder.

“ _Barrick this is where you are meant to offer your kindness and help me,_ ” She had said it as a suggestion but really she was demanding it of him, which made Barrick even more inclined to tease.

“ _I’d rather not,_ ” He said and sat back into the sofa, staring up at the ceiling he’d already familiarized himself with over the last month. 

Henrikka tutted and Barrick slapped a palm to his mouth to refrain himself from laughing out loud. It was pointless however because Henrikka had made her way towards the back of the sofa and bent over him, looking down at him with an unpleasant face. A single strand of hair found itself loose from the pins of her hair and Barrick couldn’t help but stare at it. 

“ _I do rather miss the polite, quiet Barrick these days,_ ” She said with a scowl, and in response Barrick took an arm and reached upwards with one finger to tuck the astray strand behind her ear. Her face was still as he did so, and she stared down at him until he lowered his arm. 

“ _Well, if it is any consolation, it is only because you do not frighten me anymore,_ ” Barrick admitted.

Henrikka raised an eyebrow, “ _I frightened you? Why? Because you thought I was a lunatic?_ ”

“ _No…_ ” Barrick trailed off, trying to find the right words. “ _You just did not seem of this world._ ”

Henrikka blinked down at him, and from the position they were in Barrick could see just how long her dark eyelashes were, curled upwards to just reach her eyebrows. She tilted her head to the side and stared down at him with a look of curiosity. ” _And now?_ ”

“ _Now, I might just think you are a bit of a lunatic,_ ” Barrick smirked and it earned him a slap to to the face with the book he was reading. 

“ _You are infuriating sometimes,_ ” She huffed, puffing up her cheeks, and made her way back to the shelf. Barrick quickly sat up, picking up the book from his chest and rubbing at his nose.

“ _That was rather brutal, my lady,_ ” Barrick chuckled into his palm.

“ _Do you wish for me to show you brutal, my...dear?_ ” Henrikka mocked, giving him another thin glare from across her shoulder. 

Barrick simply replied with a wide smile, and Henrikka took it with a low snarl before returning her attention to the bookshelf with her hands upon her hips. After a minute or so, she let out an aggravated groan and quickly stomped her way to the sofa just across the coffee table from Barrick.

“ _I’ll have Ruuben deal with it,_ ” She decided flatly and went to cross her legs on the sofa before realising she was in a dress. “ _For god sake, I really hate these sort of garments._ ” She said with a kick of the skirting. 

“ _I really do not understand your distaste for dresses,_ ” Barrick said with an amused smile.

“ _I do apologize but have you ever worn a dress Barrick?_ ” Henrikka shot at him. “ _Because if you did, I’m sure you’d come to understand how uncomfortable being in one for a long period of time can be. Would you like to try? I have many in my closet._ ” 

Barrick put up his palms in surrender, “ _Thank you..for the kind offer but I understand your point now._ ”

“ _I doubt it but anyway when you’ve lived several lives as a man with the freedom of wearing whatever you want, and even nothing at all, becoming a women can be rather suffocating,_ ” She huffed sliding into the corner of her seat so she could look back at the window. Beyond the window pane were the bars and beyond that the sun, low in the sky and asleep within the horizon, it slept in a glow of soft orange and faded yellow.

“ _Freedom of a man?_ ” Barrick repeated.

Henrikka gave him a quick glance before returning her gaze back to the window, “ _Of course you would not notice. Women are meant to be oppressed and stay that way silently. They cannot walk freely, they cannot wear what they would want, they cannot show skin, they cannot work or thirst for knowledge._ ”

“ _But for men to do everything for you, would it not make life easier?_ ”

“ _It is not about what ‘what is easier’, my Barrick,_ ” Her tone turned softer as she turned to look at him. “ _It is about choice._ ” 

“ _Choice…_ ”

“ _To live life the way you wish, to not feel the judgement or scorn of others for ideologies only man have created - humans have only ever restricted themselves, and if one were to try and dare to bypass those restrictions, they end up dead or...here._ ” She said the last world with a flick of her hand.

Barrick thought of his family for a moment. His mother who had spent most of her life helping his father run their bakery shop, their marriage wasn’t particularly arranged but they had grown up together and naturally their parents approved of their relationship. His father had taken over his father’s business and his mother had taken care of cooking meals, cleaning the house, doing the washing naturally as well. He thinks however about what ‘natural’ really meant, was it what society just simply expected of you? Did his mother simply follow the path already carved for her, did she have a choice? Did she have ambitions? Was his sister fated to follow the same path? Barrick’s heart sank a little in his chest.

“ _Do not look like that, I beg of you,_ ” Henrikka murmured, her voice so soft and comforting to Barrick even from the distance. “ _Realisation, awareness, consciousness...they are essentially what differs us from animals, but also what ruins us the most._ ”

“ _Emotions make up the human empire._ ” Barrick whispered.

“ _Yes...exactly._ ” 

“ _You sound a lot like Carl,_ ” Barrick didn’t really intend to say it like it was an accusation but the sudden stiffness in Henrikka’s body and the look of bewilderment made it definitely seem like he’d accused her of something.

“ _Is that so?_ ” She said rigidly, giving the back of her neck a light rub. 

“ _You do not like him?_ ” Barrick insinuated with a tilt of his head and Henrikka gave him an uncomfortable stare.

“ _He is...not one you can easily get along with,_ ” She muttered.

“ _True, and your first meeting wasn’t rather pleasant. But if you were to meet again under different circumstance I’m sure you would get along. He has a rather sharp exterior but underneath it, he’s very caring,_ ” Barrick said, awkwardly tugging at the blond strand of hair that freed itself from the backstroke of his hair and tickled at his temple. He’d hoped secretly he could find a way for the two of them to meet, to find a way for them to change their opinions on each other. For every time Barrick came to visit Henrikka, he couldn’t help but feel like he was betraying his friend. 

The hope however is quickly extinguished when Henrikka offered him a sad smile and said, “ _I’m sure he is._ ” 

Barrick, although disappointed, knew the topic ended there and he didn’t like the wallowing atmosphere that suddenly shrouded Henrikka so he changed the subject. “ _I want to know…_ ” He started, waiting for Henrikka to look up and meet his eyes. “ _About the beginning._ ” He cannot say it was the greatest diversion but Barrick’s curiosity had gotten the better of him.

“ _I do not wish to talk about it,_ ” Henrikka flatly stated, quickly getting up from her seat. “ _It is not something that needs to be discussed._ ” She said and made her way to the desk on the other side of the room.

Barrick’s eyes followed her, “ _Do I not have a right to know? After all, you say I am entangled in this curse of yours, and the fact I cannot remember anything is part of it as well, is it not?_ ” 

“ _You’re not meant to remember, no one is,_ ” She said quietly, picking up her feather pen from its ink pot and bringing it down absentmindedly to a journal she had left open on a blank page. “ _This has nothing to do with you._ ”

“ _Yes, it does._ ” Barrick quickly replied, trying to keep his own frustration at bay. 

“ _Barrick...I do not want to talk about it._ ”

“ _But I do._ ”

She slammed the pen down and it is only then does Barrick notice that she was shaking. “ _Hen-_ ”

“ _I had done something, I had done something so incredibly horrible I can only beg this curse will last for another three hundred years because I do not deserve peace, Barrick,_ ” She admitted with a shaky breath, leaning over the table as if to keep herself up. 

“ _What did you do?_ ” Barrick whispered, he felt the space around him suddenly become so delicate. 

“ _I extracted a revenge,_ ” She said, her breath shallow, her shoulder looking smaller than they ever had before. “ _I was filled with so much agony I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted revenge Barrick, I just wanted them to suffer._ ” 

Her shoulders began to shake and Barrick slowly rose from where he sat, “ _Who?_ ” He asked, walking around the sofa to quietly make his way towards her. “ _Who did you want to suffer?_ ”

She turned around, aware Barrick was beside her and brought a palm to his face, her thumb stroking at his cheekbone. “ _All of them...I wanted them to all suffer and they did. They did. But the thing about revenge Barrick is that it’s a disease, it spreads, and it spreads and it goes on forever until someone decides to just...stop._ ” Her voice cracked and her green eyes shone with the tears that welled up within them. “ _But it won’t stop, it’ll never stop. Just as I had extracted revenge, someone had done the same to me. We gave into demons and lost our souls._ ”

Barrick brought two firm hands to her shoulder but her eyes had lost their glimmer and suddenly she was not here, and when she spoke again, it was not in Finnish but a language that twirled on her tongue and scratched at her throat. Her eyes looked into the distance for a long time before they flickered towards Barrick and he knew they were staring right _at him_. They brought up their other hand to Barrick’s face and a look of pure sadness took over Henrikka’s face and although Barrick couldn’t understand a single thing, he still heard the words, he heard a name.

“ _Ana asfa, Sadiya._ ”

*

Seoul, _2016_

It’s midnight when Insook finally returns home. The hallway is deep in darkness and Insook doesn’t seem to make any effort in turning on the light as she shuffles out of her coat and places it on the hook by the front door. There’s the soft rattling of keys as she places them into the bowl beside a stack of untouched letters. The moonlight streaming through the glass of the front door barely etches out Insook’s silhouette as Mark watches her from the top of the stairs. 

“Were you planning on say anything, Mark?” Insook asks gruffly, the shadow of her head tilting upwards as if to address Mark. 

“How did you know I was here?” Mark says into the dark. There’s a click then, and the hallway and staircase is lit up in an orange light. It was an uncomfortable view, Mark had never seen this space of the house with the light on, it almost made everything seem animated.

“People have a presence,” Insook simply says as she starts making her way towards the kitchen. 

Mark stares at her with a curious look as he gets up off the landing of the stairs and makes his way down. “I was heading to my room when I saw you through the window, I didn’t think you’d be coming back tonight.” He says as he enters the kitchen, giving the clock just above the stove a look, it was just past midnight. 

“Where else would I sleep but at my house?” Insook replies, her back facing Mark as she places her handbag on the dining room table and heads towards the fridge.

“I don’t know,” Mark shrugs, leaning into the door frame. “It just didn’t seem anyone had been home when I came this morning.” 

“I had gone to visit my daughter,” Insook simply states as she begins to take out several containers of packed side dishes and food from the fridge, placing them on the kitchen island. 

It took Mark a couple of seconds to process what she said, “The daughter you were pretending didn’t send you constant letters and the one you’ve been hiding pictures of?” 

Insook gave him a hard look, and Mark put his hands up in defence. “Just double checking.”

She shook her head, and bent down into a cupboard to pull out several smaller containers. “Those for your daughter?” 

“Yes…” Insook replies, almost reluctantly as she starts filling a container with kimchi. “She doesn’t look after herself well, and she doesn’t have time to cook.” She pauses then, giving her red pepper paste covered hands a hard look before continuing. “My husband and I...we raised her to do well in school, to be a doctor, a lawyer, but she...she was not interested in any of those. No, she wanted to do...art. Of course, I had gone against it but she is a stubborn girl, too much like me. Even when I had threatened to kick her out of the house, and even when...I did, she did not give up. She went to an arts university and I hadn’t realised until after my husband had died, he’d been secretly paying for her tuition fees.”

“He didn’t disapprove?” Mark asks, watching Insook carefully.

She makes the effort at keeping her face masked but Mark can see a familiar emotion swimming in the depths of her eyes. He can see regret. “He had not said much on the matter, he was always a quiet man, so I had taken most of the authority in the house. He had stayed beside me and not fought me so I had assumed he understood. Or maybe he had understood but didn't agree. He had too much of a kind heart.” 

“You sound a lot like my parents,” Mark comments as he goes to make his way to the dining room table and takes a seat.

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah, my mother disapproved a lot of my choices. When I dropped out of my psychology major, and pursued philosophy she couldn't comprehend I was the same child she raised. I was always pretty consistent with my choices, what I wanted to do, I rarely wavered. That was probably what she loved most about me but when I challenged that, I guess it is was almost like betrayal.” Mark says.

“Do you resent her?” Insook asks quietly, and Mark meets her eyes and knows she is asking him as if she were asking her own daughter.

“I did,” He says, his tone hard. “I still do, which is why I avoid her calls because she hasn't changed much. She's just become more tolerant.”

“I see.” Insook says and quickly snaps the container of kimchi closed, turning round to wash her hands.

“What made you decide to see her all of a sudden anyway?” Mark asks, watching her back as she rubs as little too roughly at her hands. 

She doesn't seem like she’s going to to respond until she turns the sink off. “When I had received the call from the hospital I immediately thought...I thought it must have been her. I guess I was always waiting for it to be her. When she paints she falls into this...trance, she doesn’t eat or sleep until she’s done. When we were still written as her guardians, we’d be called into hospital every time she fainted.” She goes to grab the towel hanging from the corner of cupboard and rubs her hands dry. 

Mark nods, “So when you heard I died, it made you think…”

She sighs, “I started to get scared. I’m old, and she is already married, I have already missed so much, and I have no right to regret my decisions but I couldn’t help it. When I had left the hospital the first night, I found myself at her home.” She looks almost bashful as she crosses her arms over her chest, if it weren’t for her sagging eyes and permanent scowl, Mark might actually think she looks a little happy. 

“I’m sure she was happy,” Mark says wistfully, giving Insook the smile she was trying so hard to hide. 

“What makes you think she was happy?” Insook asks with a clear of her throat, quickly returning her attention to repacking food. 

“Well, it wasn’t like the overflowing pile of unread letters wasn’t a clear indication that she wanted to get back in touch but also, I spoke to her once.” Mark admits out of nowhere, and if it wasn’t for the fact Mark’s felt like he was always the brink of near death, he’d be scared right now to have admitted that completely. However when Insook looks up at him, it’s simply in confusion, not impending death.

“It was a couple of months ago, you weren’t here and the phone rang. My mother said she was planning to call me some time that day so I figured it was her but it was a different woman’s voice,” Mark explains. “She asked who I was, I asked who she was - it was kind of awkward for a moment before I explained I was a new tenant. She said she was glad you wouldn’t be on your own and told me she was having a hard time contacting you. I didn’t really believe her, I’d seen you avoid the phone before, but I didn’t tell her that. She sounded hopeful you know, she said she was opening her second gallery and wanted you to come.”

“I never heard about that,” Insook mumbles.

“I never told you,” Mark says simply. “You weren’t going to pick up the phone so you wouldn’t have known, and your daughter didn’t ask to pass a message, so I left it at that. I’m not one to get involved in other people’s decisions. You didn’t want to talk to her, that was your choice, I wasn’t going to try and be a bridge.”

“I see.” Insook says lowly, clicking shut another small container of food. 

Mark places his chin into his hand and considers Insook for a moment, “I’m proud of you though, Ahjumma. Not many people can change their minds like that after so long. Especially when you’re so old.”

Insook gives him a look and leans forward on the kitchen island, “Well, it only took you dying for it to happen.”

“And you are very welcome,” Mark jokes. 

Insook shakes her head and makes her way back to the fridge, placing all the containers back into the shelves. The small ones have a corner of their own and Mark assumes Insook’s going to make a visit tomorrow morning with them. “By the way,” Insook says as she shuts the fridge. “I was not aware I was written down as your guardian.”

Mark clears his throat. “Sure you did, you signed my health insurance papers and everything.”

Insook narrows her eyes and they almost disappear into the folds of her wrinkles, “Any papers I signed were meant to be in relation to your tenancy here.”

“Aaaand then there was that one paper you signed agreeing to be my guardian in case of an emergency,” Mark flashes the old woman a smile and she quickly responds with a huff. 

“I hope you don’t put yourself in a position where I’ll have to answer that kind of call again, it isn’t good for the heart,” Insook grumbles, poorly hiding her worry behind irritance. Mark smiles a little to himself as she makes her way to the dining table and picks up her bag. “I’m going to bed and so should you, are you going back to work tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, I won’t start classes till next week but it’s a good idea to go in and catch up, get ready for classes,” Mark says and gets up off his seat too. 

“And how are you feeling?” 

Mark goes to slap at his chest, “All good!” 

Insook eyes him like she doesn’t believe him but doesn’t push on the topic any further. “That’s good. Well, I’m going to go get some rest. Good night, Mark.”

“Good night Ahjumma,” Mark says and watches her hunched back as she walks down the hallway and turn the corner up towards the stairs, her footsteps fading until she reaches the landing and Mark is left staring at a brightly lit corridor. 

_Barrick, what does it mean?_

_What are you referring to?_

_When you spoke to Henrikka, you said regret is stronger than a thirst for revenge._

_Yes...it was just a way for her to know if I was really here, I suppose._

_But what does it mean?_

_There is nothing stronger than an emotion you cannot resolve, Mark. Revenge, it eventually comes to an end, whether you decide to extract it or not but regret, regret never leaves, it never ends. Regret comes from things you know you can never resolve, you cannot go back and fix. It stays with you._

_And what about you? I feel it in you, feel it in myself. You regret something._

_Yes, I’ve been regretting for two hundred years now._

_Regretting what?_

_Letting her die, Mark. Killing her._

_She said you didn’t._

_But I did, and she might not see it that way, but I did, Mark._

_You don’t want to talk to her?_

_Why are you being so insistent?_

_Because I can feel these… things swirling around in me. Actually, I’ve been feeling them for a while now, but it makes sense now that I’ve found out Jinyoung’s Henrikka, and it’s bothering me._

_Mark...you’ve never once had yourself confused between who you are and who I am. We’ve always been separated even if we share the same mind now. Do not start using me as an excuse for something you do not understand._

_What are you talking about?_

Barrick doesn’t respond and it leaves Mark feeling like he just got scolded. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back onto the dining room table feeling a little ridiculous.

*

_This desert is on fire._

_Hills of sand erupting into flames, licking up at the sky as if trying to reach the sun so high and bright in the sky. This land is made of heat, the air thick, the ground scorching and your skin has hardened, and darkened, and you are fire._

_You are the desert, and when you die, your bones will sift into the sand and you are the hills that make the landscape and you are the homes that shelter your children._

_But you are fire, and as you seek to protect, you will also burn, and destroy and turn everything in your sight to nothing but ashes._

_You will burn cities down, you will destroy lives, and homes, you will kill and hurt._

_You burned this city down, this city wrapped in cold, you burned it down, and you killed her._

Mark wakes up slowly, his eyes barely flickering open when he realises he fell asleep at his desk. He tries to swallow down but his throat is dry and he can’t seem to open his mouth to breathe. He peels himself off the polished wood of his desk, half of his face hot from the pressure. His white shirt sticks to him, the cold sweat that coated his body seeping through the fabric. 

Mark sits up straight, his back stiff and his neck aching as he turns in his chair and reaches out for the bottle of water on his desk with a shaky hand. The water sloshes in the plastic as Mark unsteadily brings it to his dry lips and chugs down the water desperately. 

He can breathe now, but his breath is hitching and the tremble in his body doesn’t seem to decrease so he quickly goes to latch onto the first drawer under his desk. He takes a little comfort in the sight of the familiar white bottle, and quickly reaches out to it, popping the lid with his thumb and shovelling two pills down his throat. He thinks he should drink some water to let it go down easier but he barely manages to get the bottle back into the drawer.

He leans back into his chair, feeling the painful contractions of his chest as his lungs struggle to take in air. The lights of his office are bright but he doesn’t close his eyes, he wants them to blind him, momentarily or permanently, he wasn’t sure but he knows he doesn’t want to see anything right now. 

He wants to stop dreaming, to stop remembering, he wants to forget everything. He wants to forget his past life, and his current life, he just wants to sleep without worrying about what worlds he’ll fall into, and what abyss’ he’ll get lost in. He wants to think to himself and not worry about the thoughts of another twisting their way in. He wants to breathe without feeling like it was a struggle. 

_You can have them, you know._

_Have what?_

_Your wishes, Mark. You can have them._

_How?_

_Find them. End this._

“Professor?” A voice that most certainly did not come from the inside of Mark’s head cuts into the silence of the room and Mark jumps up startled. His chair rolls back as he gets to his feet and finds Jinyoung on the other side of his desk.

“Jesus christ-” Mark hisses under his breath. “Can you make some noise?”

“I knocked,” Jinyoung says flatly. “Like four times.” 

Mark opens his mouth to respond but his jaw just hangs, “Just- ok, sorry- how long have you been standing there exactly?” 

“Not long,” Jinyoung replies, his tone monotone and Mark can’t tell if he’s lying or not. “What were those pills for?” 

“So you’ve been here long enough,” Mark deadpans and Jinyoung responds with a casual shrug. “They’re nothing, it’s just to...calm me down.”

“Calm you down? From what? Like a panic attack?” Jinyoung talks like he’s prodding a stick at a cat and Mark just wonders if he should snap but he keeps his composure and gives him a vague nod.

“Sort of.” Mark says and goes to grab his seat to sit back into it. “Why are you here? Isn’t it pretty late?” He says, peeking at the clock on his desk that says its eight pm. 

“Ah, yeah, I was just taking a walk on campus and saw your lights on, didn’t realise you came back,” Jinyoung says as he takes one of the two wooden chairs before Mark’s desk, looking uncomfortable no matter how he positions himself. Mark see’s the dark circles around his eyes then, the bright light above his head shadowing the hollows of his eyes, making them look even more sunken than they were.

“You’re not sleeping?” Mark asks, intertwining his hands together on the desk. 

Jinyoung stares down at his hands with a masked face, simply humming in agreement. 

“What’s wrong?” Mark presses, he could tell there was something wrong and he was sure it wasn’t a matter of memories because Jinyoung is here, and he is distracted. “Is something else bothering you?” 

“Not really,” Jinyoung blinks and goes to scratch at the back of neck. “I was just alone in my room and realised it was probably the last place I wanted to be. I guess I’ve gotten too used to company.” 

“I see,” Mark says and unclasps his fingers, leaning back into his chair. “Well, you know you can always come visit me when you want, here or my house.” 

“Thanks…” Jinyoung says, but he doesn’t look entirely eager. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mark asks again, trying to meet with Jinyoung’s eyes but he seems to be looking at everything but Mark. “You look like something's bothering you.”

“Aside from the memories?” Jinyoung snorts and there’s a brief smirk on his face as he does so but it disappears too soon and Mark finds himself on the edge of his seat, frustrated at the down turn of his lips. 

“Aside from the memories, Jinyoung,” Mark presses, and it’s at the sound of his name does Jinyoung finally look up to meet his eyes. 

“I have a question, for me...or for Henrikka, for Barrick, I don’t know,” Jinyoung mumbles, his lips now pressed into a thoughtful pout. 

“Ask.” 

Jinyoung swallows down, Mark watching his adams-apple dipping in his throat slowly until he finally opens his mouth to speak again, “Did Barrick really love Henrikka?” 

It wasn’t a question Mark was expecting but Jinyoung looks like the thought has been weighing him down so Mark takes it in and considers it carefully. “He did, wasn’t it obvious?”

“Was it?” Jinyoung questions. “I guess it was, but what kind of love was it?” 

“What kind of love?” Mark echoes. “What do you mean?”

“Was he… _in love_ with her? Or did he just love her like a sister? She always thought about it. She was nervous about it, nervous around him. She could tell he cared for her but was it under obligation or did he really...feel for her?” Jinyoung pauses and then bursts out laughing. “She’s telling me to shut up. It’s funny how loud dead people can be.” 

Barrick was silent in Mark’s head, but Mark already knew the answer to the question. “He loved her.” Mark said, strongly, surely like it is his own feelings he is announcing. “He was in love with her. At first he was attracted, she had this atmosphere that just immediately pulled him in, and then when they started to meet and they got to know each other, he found she was well and beyond his expectations. He was in love with her, I’m sure.”

“You’re sure?” Jinyoung says, his voice coming out hoarse like he had the air knocked right out of him. “Did he tell you that?”

“No, but I can feel it. I can feel so many things inside, sometimes it’s confusing, but now that we’ve had this conversation I’m sure of one thing.” Mark nods to himself, pressing a palm to his chest.

“Of what?” Jinyoung asks breathlessly. 

“One of his regrets was that he couldn’t tell her he loved her before she died,” Mark whispers, feeling his own eyes prick with tears that didn’t belong to him. “He loved her so much but he always felt like she was someone he couldn’t be with.” 

“W-why?”

Mark’s nails dig deep into his shirt, “Their class? His insecurity? Or maybe the fact she was always at an arm’s length away. She kept things from him, thinking she was protecting him but he just felt like she was pushing him away.” 

“I see,” Jinyoung breathes out and closes his eyes, his own hand to his chest. “It seems she has many regrets of her own.” 

“Is that what’s been bothering you?” Mark asks, watching Jinyoung’s face closely as he slowly begins to open his eyes. 

“Sort of?” He smirks, and Mark wants to feel annoyed at the ambiguity of his answer but he’s too pleased with the half smile on his face. 

“Anything else? How are you sleeping?” Mark asks and too quickly, Jinyoung’s face drops into a scowl.

“Are we still doing this? These meetings?” He says a little too bitterly and it strikes confusion in Mark.

“No, I was genuinely asking, but also, I need to update Youngjae and Yoonseok. I haven’t been telling them details, and they know I’m holding back on them, but they’re not complaining since it seems there are some improvements.” Mark explains, but it doesn’t seem the ease the sudden bad mood Jinyoung is in. 

“You know Professor, you really have knack for killing the mood,” He sighs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Jinyoung gives Mark a look and places his cheek into his hand, “I just don’t know if you’re great at pretending or just really oblivious.”

“Excuse-”

A phone goes off then and Jinyoung quickly wiggles in his seat to grab his mobile out from the pocket of his jeans. He looks at the caller id and smiles a little to himself as he answers it. “Mihyun, I called you earlier but you didn’t pick up…” He says and then pauses to hear her talk.

Mark feels his own face slipping into a frown, thinking that he wasn’t actually Jinyoung’s first choice for company. Of course, a professor wasn’t exactly the greatest person to look for comfort in, but Mark thought their new found relationship meant things went beyond their student, teacher relationship. 

“What!?” Jinyoung exclaims, pulling Mark out of his little brooding fest. “P-Professor, can I use your computer real quick?” 

“What’s wrong?” Mark asks bewildered, shrinking back quickly from his desk as Jinyoung flew up from his seat and took over the computer. Mark rolls himself to the side to peer under Jinyoung’s arms where he opens up the internet to a news site. 

Quickly he scrolls towards the trending topics, his mouse hovers down the top eight topics and lands on the ninth that reads ‘Yonsei University’. He clicks on it to open a new page where a video sits large in the centre of the page and at the top a title; ‘Yonsei University Student tries to kill himself.’ Below it is a small description that reads _‘A Yonsei University student has been filmed trying to throw himself off the connecting bridge leading from the residential areas to the university's campus. It seems he made it out okay thanks to his friend and a professor that reached him in time. What’s more interesting however is that this isn’t this particular student’s first incident. See below for more details.’_

Jinyoung goes to click the play button on the video immediately and Mark leans in closer as the video begins. It was taken a bit away from where Jinyoung had tried to jump, the camera evidently zoomed in from the opposite corner of the bridge. It plays just as Mihyun grabs Jinyoung by the leg, screaming his name until Mark runs into the shot, the camera following him shakily until he gets to Jinyoung and tackles him to the ground. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Jinyoung mutters under his breath as he scrolls down to the bottom of the page where comments keep appearing in their seconds. 

_Hey, isn’t that the Park Jinyoung fellow in Professor Tuan’s Philosophy class?_

_He was the one that handed his essays in Arabic and almost got expelled._

_Wasn’t he the same one that started screaming and started speaking Japanese in the hallway?_

“This...isn’t good.” Mark mutters under his breath.

Jinyoung slams his palm to the desk and swivels on his feet, he makes his way round the desk and then pauses. “Shit...what did I do? Professor Jung might just really kick me out now.”

“Hey, we don’t know that-” 

“Yes, we do! Do you see the comments? This was the one thing everyone wanted to avoid.” Jinyoung shouts, his body shaking with anxiety as he began to pace. 

Mark quickly gets up to his feet and walks up to Jinyoung, “Jinyoung, calm down. I won’t let that happen.”

“What can you do?” Jinyoung snaps and then quickly catches himself. “I’m sorry, this isn’t your fault.”

“It’s fine.” Mark says, putting two firm hands on his shoulders. “It’s going to be fine. I won’t let you get expelled, even if it means involving lawyers and all that bullshit, okay? We’ll fix this.”

Jinyoung looks up at him hopefully and nods, “We’ll fix this.” 

Mark pats him on the head and nods with him. “We will.” He says finally, already dreading the hell that was going to ensue tomorrow.


	13. a harmony

Mark flinches at the click of the door before him, then there’s the sound of wind that comes with the absolute ferocity of the swing of the door. Professor Jung stands in the entrance of her office with a frown so deep Mark thinks it’s about to dig six feet into the ground. Her eyes drag from Mark to Youngjae, who stands beside him looking just as unpleasant.

“Professor Youngjae, Professor Tuan, come in,” She didn’t say it politely, in fact, Mark was pretty sure the absolute venom in her voice was the sweetest tone she could conjure.

Youngjae’s the first to step into the room, and Mark follows in with his tail between his legs. Youngjae’s been in a horrible mood ever since Mark told him what happened that same morning.

Over the past couple of months, Youngjae has pretty much built this content and composed image that Mark thought nothing, absolutely nothing could break. A bomb could go off and the first thing he’d know to do is to lead people out orderly to the nearest safest exit. Mark had constantly wondered just what kind of discipline he must have gone through to turn out so poised and realistic. Nothing seemed to phase him.

That being said, seeing Youngjae so incredibly stiff and evidently displeased made a new set of butterflies erupt in Mark’s stomach. Youngjae has been working so hard on keeping Jinyoung safe and in classes, and this one incident could literally flush that all down the toilet. Along with Mark, he’s pretty sure he’s going to get dragged down somewhere into the sewer after all this.

“Take a seat,” Professor Jung orders as she makes herself round her desk. Mark figures in some other dimension where your feelings can be felt in your feet, the light sound of her heels are actually creating earthquakes right now. “Now, I’m sure you both know why I’ve asked to see you.” Professor Jung says as she slips off her glasses and throws them onto her desk.

Mark keeps himself from wincing. For all the things Professor Jung is, neat, calculative, and professionally evil, she is not someone that seemed to display her frustration and worry like she seems to be doing right now. She looks younger without the frames circling her eyes, and a lot more human. Which didn’t settle right in Mark’s guts.

“Do you know how many calls I have received this morning?” She sighs, her eyes looking from Mark to Youngjae as if any of them were going to offer her the answer. “A dozen, over a dozen at least, and it is only eight in the morning. Does anyone want to tell me exactly what, how, and why this has happened?”

Mark feels like the air has been knocked right out of him. It isn’t that he particularly fears Professor Jung to such an extent she renders him breathless but he couldn’t deny she is the one thing that could make or break Jinyoung at this very moment. Anything she says or does right now, any fluctuation in her mood could literally set Jinyoung on a path to safety or hell.

“Mark reported the article and video last night,” Youngjae says first. Despite the hard set of his jaw, the words seem to come out of his mouth smoothly. “It was taken down and we’re making sure no other copies are circulating the internet.”

“Is that the problem, right now?” Professor Jung hisses. “The damage has been done. The one thing, the _one thing_ I wanted to avoid has happened. Do you know what parents are asking me? They’re asking what kind of establishment allows a lunatic to run around without any security. In fact, they’re asking why he’s even allowed in class period. Journalists are calling me asking if this is really a case of xenoglossy. I don’t know who they’ve been talking to but I am not happy. This issue needs to be resolved, and if for the sake of the university I have to expel Jinyoung then so be it-”

“You can’t be serious,” Mark exasperates. “Your university has the biggest psychology department in the country and you’re telling me you’re not even going to think twice about kicking out a student for his mental issues? Don’t you think that’ll do more damage than what’s already been done?”

Professor Jung looks taken back for a moment and Mark wants to feel like he _won_ something but the current worry and anxiety that soars in his head is almost blinding.

“Professor Tuan’s right, kicking him out won’t ease any worries Professor.” Youngjae says, leaning over Professor Jung’s desk. His body language oozed ease and comfort, and Mark realises he’s trying to relax Professor Jung. “They’ll begin to question the university's ability. This will badly affect everyone if we don’t figure out the best way to resolve this issue.”

Professor Jung let’s out a heavy sigh, her fingers to the bridge of her nose. When she speaks again, her voice is lower and she sounds far more exhausted, “What do you suggest then? We need to come up with some sort of solution before midday otherwise parents will become restless. Journalists are already crowding outside round the campus. I trusted you Youngjae because I believed you when you said he’d get better but this…” She says, giving her computer screen a point. “This is not better.”

Youngjae’s puts his head down and nods. “I know, I thought he’d been improving but it seems that wasn’t the case.”

Mark bites his lip, shrinking deeper into his seat like the leather of the chair was just going to slither its way onto him and swallow him down. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hopes it would.

“You’re looking comfortable Professor Tuan,” Professor Jung chides, and Mark looks away knowing that she couldn’t really turn him to stone with just a glare but not risking it anyway. “Would you like to contribute any ideas in solving this? You’re just as responsible for Jinyoung as Professor Choi is.”

Mark inwardly grumbles and gives Youngjae a brief side look as if to ask for his permission to speak, but Youngjae looks too immersed in his own thoughts and now Mark just feels stranded. “Why don’t we take him out of school?” He blurts out, and it was enough of a line to sweep Youngjae right off whatever track his mind was riding on.

“Excuse me?” Professor Jung gapes, a ridiculous look on her face.

“Not permanently...just temporarily.” Mark says quickly, the words slipping out of his mouth before his brain even had time to process them. “Take him out of classes. Release a statement, that he’s been dealing with psychological issues and that because you care about the health of every single one of your students, you will be going to make sure you offer him the proper support. As for the journalists, tell them the same thing and ignore anything they say about xenoglossy. It’s easier to sweep those away as baseless rumours.”

Professor Jung blinks, mildly wide eyed like she wasn’t expecting anything coming out of Mark’s mouth to be useful.

“That’s probably the best we can do in this situation,” Youngjae pipes in. “Except Jinyoung can’t stay in the dorms. He won’t be able to move or breathe, it’ll take a couple of days, a week or two for the reporters to die down.”

“He can stay at mine. I live in a large house with just my landlord, and it’s on a pretty vacant street, just some elderly people for neighbours. I think it’d be the best place.” Mark tells them, more than eager to offer what he could. The look on Jinyoung’s face last night when he’d first seen the article had left a sour taste in Mark’s mouth.

Professor Jung nods to herself, finally going back to pick up her glasses, sliding it back onto her nose. “That is probably the best we can do for now,” She says mostly to herself, and then looks up to meet Youngjae and Mark’s eyes. “Let’s do as much damage control as we can for now. After this has settled down, we’ll need to reconsider the methods you’ve been going about trying to ensure Jinyoung’s sanity.” She says the last two words like they were a myth and Mark thinks about knocking the glasses back off that pointy nose of hers.

“We’ll get going then,” Youngjae says quickly, apparently just as eager as Mark to get out of this room. It’s ridiculous how one person could make a room half the size of a football pitch make you feel like you were in compartment filled with water up to your neck.

The two leave the office with a fine click of the door and a deep sigh on Mark’s part. Personally, he’s relieved to have prolonged any decisions that meant getting Jinyoung expelled but the look on Youngjae’s face says otherwise.

“What’s wrong? We got through probably the worst obstacle without a scratch, ease up Youngjae,” Mark says, giving his friend an encouraging pat to the back.

Youngjae gives him a look from the side and shakes his head, “Mark, I can understand you and Jinyoung have gotten particularly close over the past couple of weeks, and I know you haven’t always been honest during our meetings, but this incident is a big deal. As far as we were concerned any trouble Jinyoung found himself in wasn’t intentional but this...this was a suicide attempt. How could you not mention it?”

Mark goes to rub at his temples, and let’s out another exhausted sigh. “Youngjae, I don’t know how to explain it to you but he doesn’t want to kill himself. Believe me. After the incident I tried to make sure he wasn’t alone for any length of time. Telling you is one thing but if anyone really had known what happened I was worried they’d drag him to a hospital.”

Youngjae reads the desperate look on Mark’s face and gives in with a meager nod. Mark knew he wasn’t satisfied with the explanation, but he also knew that there was some things that can’t be explained.

“Let’s just...solve one thing at a time,” Youngjae says, giving Mark’s shoulder a hard squeeze. “You go grab Jinyoung and take him back to yours, I’ll sort out the journalists. Okay?”

“I got it, I’ll call you later.” Mark says, giving Youngjae a smile before turning on his heels and sprinting down the corridor.

 

*

 

When Professor Jung said that reporters had already began crowding the campus she was not joking. Mark had been in his university office all night last night trying to get the video and circulating articles down, not realising the absolute chaos that was ensuing on the outside.

When Mark manages to get to Jinyoung’s dorm building he thinks he’s too late. The amount of reporters with note pads in their hands and big flashy cameras crowding the front of the building is ridiculous. There is no way Mark was going to be able to get Jinyoung out of here unscathed.

Luckily Mark had brought his car round the corner of the road so it wouldn’t be a long fight to get Jinyoung into safety. Now it’s just getting into the building and out, which evidently is going to prove more of a trouble just by the mere thickness of bodies blocking the front door.

He decides he’s got to start making his way through eventually and begins sliding between people. _Excuse me’s_ and _sorry’s_ don’t seem to cut it and eventually Mark finds himself barrelling his way through the crowd, almost getting himself knocked out by a camera lens at a point.

Once he finally reaches the intercom he thinks he’s reached heaven, but quickly disappointed to find no one at Jinyoung’s room answers to the press of the door bell, so he presses it another ten times.

“I said stop ringing the door!” Jaebum’s voice seethes through the intercom. “Did you think I was joking when I said I’d call the police?”

“Jaebum, it’s me,” Mark quickly interjects, already worried about the people around him eavesdropping. “Professor Tuan, let me in, quickly.”

“Professor?” The line cuts then and a second later, the door makes an audible unlocking sound. None of the reporters around him seem to notice him as he quickly slips into the building and makes his way straight for the lift.

When Mark finally makes it to room fifty eight, he’s greeted with a scowl and dark circles. Jaebum looking as displeased as ever. “Professor,” He greets him gruffly and opens the door wider for him to enter.

“Where is he?” Mark asks, eyeing the empty room.

Jaebum nods to Jinyoung’s bed where a pile of clothes are knotted together in one corner and a duvet is scrunched up like a piece of chewing gum on the other corner. “He’s beneath there?”

Jaebum’s nod, “Don’t think he’s slept all night, it’s been pretty rough from what I’ve heard."

“What’s been rough?”

Jaebum eye’s Mark for a moment, a flaccid but calculative look on his face. “The voices, the people...I don’t know, but they’ve been coming and going and coming.”

Mark’s eyebrows knit together in the middle, “Did he tell you something?”

“No, not particularly out right,” Jaebum says, crossing his arms over his chest. “But they come out when he sleeps so it’s hard not to get the gist of things eventually.”

“Is that why you were avoiding him?” Mark asks, and he doesn’t want the words to sound bitter, but his voice betrays him.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Jaebum shrugs, looking unphased. “At first I thought he had a personality disorder, I thought to report it, you know - he could prove a danger to himself or others. But then the languages started coming through, and one of them spoke to me.”

“One of them spoke to you? What-”

“They spoke in Korean so I thought it was Jinyoung at first but I don’t know, the look in his eyes...it wasn’t the same,” Jaebum gives Jinyoung a narrowed look then. “They told me to stay away from him, for my own safety.”

Mark didn’t know what to say to that, he’s looking at Jinyoung whose trembling beneath his covers, thinking things were making less sense every single day.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to it,” Jaebum says, going to grab his rucksack from behind the door. “I can’t say it’s going to easy but good luck, Professor.” Jaebum leaves with those words and Mark wonders just exactly what part of this whole situation he needs luck in, and quickly decides all of it.

“Jinyoung…” Mark calls out softly and slowly makes his way to Jinyoung’s bed. He goes to sit on the ground just where the duvet curls and Mark think’s Jinyoung’s head is. Delicately, he tugs at the cover, revealing Jinyoung. He’s balled himself up, still in the clothes he was wearing last night, his head is in his arms and his fingers knotted into his hair. “Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung doesn’t really hear him. He’s mumbling under his breath, a different language, many languages and Mark can’t tell if the past has itself chained around his ankle, dragging him down or if he’s drowning himself in it. Mark thinks even he wouldn’t want to settle in this reality if he was in Jinyoung’s shoes right now.

Mark goes to fling the rest of the covers off him then and wraps his hands around Jinyoung’s wrists. They feel so thin and brittle between his fingers and Mark quickly loosens his grip. “Jinyoung,” He whispers as he gently tugs on his arms. “Jinyoung, wake up.”

Jinyoung flinches and Mark takes it as indication that he heard him but doesn't make an effort to uncurl himself. “Jinyoung, it's me.” Mark takes a hand to his hair and pats him comfortingly for a moment. It seems to ease Jinyoung ever so slowly, the trembling settling and his hands unhinging their grip from his roots.

Eventually Jinyoung unlocks himself from his position, revealing the dried tears that trailed his cheeks. His eyes were red from a lack of sleep, from the thoughts, maybe both and Mark feels unwarranted guilt sprout in his chest. “Jinyoung, what are we going to do with you?” Mark sighs, mostly to himself.

“Professor?” Jinyoung’s voice comes out ragged and hoarse and everything wrong. The look in his eyes, the kind of tortured, dark look he’d have whenever he’d swim out of the nightmares, seems to dwindle at the sight of Mark. Rigidly, he pushes himself up from the bed, moving to lean over the edge where he takes his arms and wraps them around Mark’s neck. In the next moment, Mark finds Jinyoung sliding onto his lap, his face dug into the nape of his neck, the tremble in him now transferring between their bodies.

Mark has his hands out and stiff from under Jinyoung’s arms. His chin propped on the younger one’s shoulder and his eyes doing laps around the room. “J-Jinyoung…?” Mark mutters nervously, he’s not entirely sure what to do with his hands, he’s not entirely sure how they managed to get into this position. Mark counts the seconds tick by, thinking Jinyoung may just need a moment, but they continue to tick tock away and Jinyoung is still on his lap, his arms locking them in a tight hug.

With a deep breath Mark takes a palm to Jinyoung’s back, patting him gently. “Jinyoung, it’s okay, everything’s okay.” He soothes, now letting his body relax against Jinyoung’s, he indulges a little by hugging him back. Mark can feel the flutter of Jinyoung’s heart, unsteady with fear maybe, his breath spiking like he’s crying but no tears seem to well up in his eyes. Mark takes both his arms and wraps them around Jinyoung, tightening his own grip, and inhaling the very faint scent of cologne.

That’s when Jinyoung stiffens, his shivering breaths coming to an outright halt and then he begins to awkwardly lean back. It’s dark in the room, nothing but morning daylight slipping through the tiny slits of the shutted blinds but Mark could still see the absolute look of horror on his face as he seems to realise just what he’s doing. Mark wants to feel just as bewildered but there’s something amusing about the flustered look on his face.

“P-Professor?” Jinyoung stutters, crawling back and off Mark onto the bed, he’s in the corner of his wall now on all fours like a feral cat.

“Jinyoung?” Mark pipes from where he is on the floor.

“What were you doing?”

“I don’t know, you’re the one that crawled on my lap,” Mark shoots back.

“I-what-” Jinyoung’s looking across the room, the ceiling, the floor, the door as if he needed a sudden exit or anything to speak to that wasn’t Mark’s face. “I thought you were someone else.” He concludes hurriedly and jumps off his bed.

Mark watches him as he makes his way to Jaebum’s side of the room without any real direction. He doesn’t make the fact Jinyoung had definitely called out _professor_ before he went to hug him out loud, and decides to keep it to himself.

“What...what are you doing here?” Jinyoung asks, placing his arms on his hips for the sake of putting them anywhere.

“I came to pick you up,” Mark says, getting up onto his feet. “Pack some of your clothes, toiletries, essentials, the lot.”

“The what? Wait what?” Jinyoung gapes from across the room. He’s looking a little ridiculous, his jeans all tattered and wrinkled, his t-shirt hanging off his shoulder and his hair pointing out in all directions.

“Actually, shower, then do all that. They’ll probably take a lot of pictures and we can’t have you adding to the whole lunatic thing,” Mark says with a wave of his hand. He then goes to make his way to the window where he opens the blinds and lets the sunlight flood in.

“I have absolutely no idea what's going on,” Jinyoung replies, covering his eyes.

“Look,” Mark says, giving the window a nod.

Jinyoung gives him a skeptical look like he didn’t want to get too close to Mark but he eventually makes his way to the wall and peers down onto the road just of the front of the building. “Holy shit,” Jinyoung gasps and presses himself against the windowpane to get a better look. “Don’t tell me they’re all here over one stupid article?”

“Yes and no,” Mark huffs. “The article and video were one thing, but people started making threads about you. Theories and more articles started growing, people’s comments and statements started coming in. Some exaggerated, some outright lies. In the end, this was the result.”

“How the hell…” Jinyoung groans, giving the glass before him one bump with his forehead. Mark slides a hand between the two of them and shoves Jinyoung backwards. The touch makes Jinyoung jolt and jump back, earning Mark an unpleasant look. “What am I going to do? Professor Jung is probably already done and signed all the papers for my expulsion.”

“Don’t worry, Professor Choi and I already talked to her,” Mark says reassuringly, staring down at his hand where he rubbed his fingers together. “You won’t get expelled, well for now anyway. They’re going to release a statement saying that you’re on leave to deal with your psychological problems but that won’t stop the reporters and articles straight away. So we decided it’s best you stay with me for now, just until this dies down.”

“ _We?_ Who is _we?_ How can you guys just decide this without talking to me?” Jinyoung grumbles.

“Jinyoung...I’m sorry it came down to this but you have to trust me on this, okay?” Mark pleads, willing Jinyoung to meet him his eyes but that seems to be the last thing Jinyoung wants to do right now.

“So, I have to stay at yours...for how long exactly?”

“I don’t know, a week, two tops, just until this dies down. Look, I know it’s not ideal but what’s done is done. Let’s just go about solving this the best way we can, so Professor Jung doesn't feel the need to kick you out and you aren’t ripped apart by reporters.” Mark urges, impatiency starting to buzz through him. He didn’t know how long it’d take before it wasn’t just curious reporters crowding the campus but bystanders, online fanatics, conspiracy theorist, the whole lot started taking an interest in Jinyoung.

“Fine,” Jinyoung huffs. “We going now?”

Mark nods.

“I’ll take a quick shower and pack.” He says, going to grab a toiletry bag and towel from his drawer quickly. When he heads to the door, he gives Mark a look before disappearing into the hallway.

 

*

 

Mark and Jinyoung had barely made it out of the dorm building alive. At first they had walked out nonchalantly, their faces on full exposure and masked with disinterest. They’d just made it through the cut of reporters before someone had noticed him and then they made a run for the car. It was easy after that, too quickly losing them all after Mark had driven across the bridge.

“Yes, mum, I told you I’m fine,” Jinyoung’s voice comes from the hallway. “No...mum...I don’t want to kill- no, I’m fine, I promise. It was just a joke gone wrong, I swear. I’m not sad about anything- I know I can talk to you. I’m fine, seriously, I’m fine. I’m staying with a professor for a while, I’ll call you often, okay? I love you too...bye.” There’s silence then, and a sigh before Jinyoung makes his way into the kitchen.

Mark looks straight ahead, chewing nonchalantly at his apple. “Everything okay?” He asks Jinyoung as he goes to grab his own apple from the fruit basket on the kitchen island.

“As they can be,” Jinyoung mumbles, his thumb rubbing on the skin of the fruit. “She watched the video and well, anyone would be shaken up if they saw their child trying to jump off a bridge.”

“I’m sorry,” Mark says out of a lack of nothing else to say in this situation.

“Why are you apologising?” Jinyoung asks, giving Mark a half smile that looked both tired and a little content. “This was bound to happen eventually, I guess I’m just glad I got people like you and Mihyun on my side. It makes me feel a little less insane.”

“You’re not insane,” Mark says.

“I know, I know I’m not. I guess, though, after seeing that video and all the comments, if I was in someone else’s shoes, even I’d call myself crazy.” Jinyoung sighs and then goes to prop himself up on the island. He looks small where he is, his head snuggled up in the hood of his jumper, his legs swinging just off the ground.

Mark considers his words for a moment, taking a crunch out of his apple. “I think people do it too easily, making assumptions. If someone were to do something they didn’t understand, they automatically would class it as insanity. What is insane anyway? Going against the norm? You ever think that those people that suffer from hallucinations and voices in their head, you ever think they’re real? Maybe there’s just people out there that can tap into a world not everyone can see. Not to make mental illness into a fairy-tale but what I’m trying to say is that just because we can’t see something, just because we have no way to physically prove something, doesn’t automatically mean it’s false. There’s things way beyond this world, that we cannot even fathom.”

“I think that’s fine though,” Jinyoung says, a complacent expression on his face. “I don’t think we need to know everything.”

“Is that coming from someone that knows too much?”

“Maybe?” Jinyoung grins, but it’s only brief and it quickly disappears into the apple as he takes out a bite from it. He chews slowly, his eyes looking out into the distance and Mark finds himself just watching him until he speaks again. “You know what I think is the saddest out of all this?”

“What?”

“That as much as the world has changed in the past couple hundred years, nothing's really changed at all. I mean sure there are laws now, better justice systems, technology, and I guess open-mindedness. But there’s still wars, and not the wars where generals fight and die with their men but wars now with men in suits moving armies like chess pieces on a board game. In the last hundred years alone there’s been genocide, massacres, bombings, there’s been pain on a scale way larger than was possible before, and you’d think we were getting better. But I guess just as much as our minds begin to expand, so does our destructiveness. I’ve seen so much pain, and in every life I wish for one thing, _that the next one will be better._ _The next one will be better._ And if you want to look at it optimistically it has gotten better, and it hasn’t. In the west they accept homosexuality and diversity, and yet they continue to force themselves on countries that can barely keep their homes up. Here, we pride ourselves on our technological advancement and knowledge, and yet we can’t even learn to accept that people are different, that everyone is different. Do you think we get better, Professor? Or is change inevitable and we’ve just learnt to tolerate it?”

Jinyoung’s not really looking for an answer, for someone who has lived for five hundreds years, he’d imagine if he couldn’t find the answer for his own question, no one else could. Any comfort Mark offers now would sound like pity, and that was the last emotion Mark felt for the younger man before him.

“You don’t have to think about it so hard,” Mark says, staring at the core of his apple where two apple seeds are nestled into the centre. “Things have changed, maybe not always for the good but there has been _good_. And the good has always started with one person, then two, then three, then there are groups, protests. Whether it was women fighting for equality or people of colour fighting for freedom, it always started with someone. Someone is a start. There’s always going to be bad in the world, Jinyoung, _but if the bad didn’t exist, how are you going to differentiate between what is good, and what is bad?_ ”

Jinyoung finds himself grinning like the two of them had just told each other a private joke. “For someone only two hundred years old, you certainly sound like a wise man.”

“ _Only two hundred years old._ ” Mark repeats, laughter bubbling in him.

Insook makes her entrance into the kitchen, looking stuffy and grouchy as usual. “I’ve made up your bed, Jinyoung.” She announces with a clap of her hands. “If you need anything else boy just tell me.” She says with a casual wave of her hand, making her way into the kitchen.

“Thank you Ahjumma,” Jinyoung smiles, pecking the old woman quickly on the cheek as she brushed by him. She gives her cheek a quick swat, not even bothering to pay a glance in Jinyoung’s direction.

“That’s unfair. Where’s my kiss?” Mark jokes, raising his eyebrows up at Jinyoung.

“W-what?” Jinyoung chokes out, a clear of the throat quickly turning into a set of coughs.

“I got you from your dorm and drove you here, and I didn’t get a thank you, so where’s my kiss?” Mark demands, throwing a pointed finger across the room.

“Are you being serious?” Jinyoung mumbles.

“Would you actually have kissed me?” Mark snorts and Jinyoung raises his hand like he’s so close to chucking the half-eaten apple in his hand at the professor’s head.

“Anyone ever tell you how bad your jokes are, Professor?” Jinyoung snaps, jumping off the island counter.

“Actually, all the time,” Mark mumbles under his breath as Jinyoung stomps his way out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“Do you have to tease him so bad? Hasn’t he gone through enough, Mark?” Insook sighs disapprovingly from the fridge, where she’s taking out several ingredients to start lunch.

“It’s to get his mind off things, I think I succeeded pretty well,” Mark shrugs, taking out a big bite from his apple as reward.

“In angering him...yes…” Insook says with a shake of his head.

“Details.”

 

*

 

It’s three in the morning when Mark hears the faint sound of whining coming through the walls.

He’d been up on his laptop for a good six hours now surfing the internet, reporting videos, articles, and threads based around Jinyoung. Some of the pictures taken today had been put up, identifying Mark as the philosophy professor that had saved him from jumping off the bridge. He can’t say his presence helped Jinyoung much. In fact it only added fuel to the theories going round now that they had Mark’s thesis’ as back ups for the stories they were twisting. He can’t say the excessive amount of emails, flagging and reports he’s made has done much but it’s at least made it difficult for others to post comments and enlarge the situation.

A whine, close to a cry and groan, comes from the next room where Jinyoung is in. Mark looks up from his laptop and at the shadow covered wall for a moment before deciding to get up off his desk and making his way into the hallway. The corridor is a pit of darkness, nothing but the window at the end allowing moonlight to illuminate the floorboards from beneath Mark’s feet. Floorboards that creak painfully with every step Mark takes towards Jinyoung’s door.

He takes his knuckle to the door and at the third knock a cry cuts through the thickness of the dark. “Jinyoung?” Mark whispers as he grabs the door knob, turning it quickly to swing the door open.

Jinyoung’s sprawled on his bed, the right side of his body dangling off the edge. At the foot of the bed, Mark finds Jinyoung’s duvet in a heap on the floor as if he kicked it off. “Jinyoung?” Marks call out again, taking a slow step deeper into the room.

Jinyoung’s room is brightly lit, the full moon high in the sky and visible from this side of the house. It looked down into the room with an overbearing presence and highlighted Jinyoung, his sweat covered body glistening under the illumination. He’s twitching violently, his eyes scrutinized shut and the veins in his neck protrude and bulge with tension. The ends of his hair are damp with sweat, sticking to his pale skin, and his tank top is soaked. He looks like he’s at melting point even though the room coated Mark in a coldness that told him Autumn would be coming soon.

Mark makes his way closer to Jinyoung and settles beside him on the bed. He takes a hand to Jinyoung’s forehead, and flinches, _he’s burning up._ “Jinyoung, you got to wake up. Now.” Mark demands, taking a hard grip to Jinyoung’s shoulder, shaking him. “Jinyoung, you have a fever.”

Jinyoung gasps, his breath hot, his chest dips and rises like he’s struggling to breathe. “Jinyoung, wake up….please,” Mark whispers, sliding his palms to Jinyoung’s face. “Wake up.”

Jinyoung’s eyes flutter and his mouth begins to move, he’s saying something in his breath but Mark can barely make it out. “Are you really going to do this every time, Jinyoung?” Mark curses and goes to wrap his arms around Jinyoung’s shoulder, forcing him to sit up but it doesn't do anything and instead Jinyoung just falls limp against Mark’s shoulder. 

“Do I need to call a hospital? What do I do?” Mark finds a tremble in his words as he let’s out a sigh, his lips pressed against Jinyoung’s forehead. He closes his eyes and tries to think, but the only thoughts that run through his head is just how hot Jinyoung is, his skin scalding to touch and his breath like steam against Mark’s collar bones.

“ _Barrick?_ ” Jinyoung murmurs.

“What? What did you say? Jinyoung?” Mark pulls Jinyoung back to look at his face. His eyes are open now but Mark knows it’s not Jinyoung here.

Jinyoung looks tired but there’s a small smile on his face as he looks up at Mark, “ _Barrick…_ ” He murmurs and sluggishly brings up two hands to Mark’s face. “ _Barrick, you’re okay? You’re okay…I’m so glad you’re okay._ ”

_Barrick?_

“ _Henrikka?_ ” Mark calls out, his words coming out tightly, like his throat had just closed itself off. “ _Henrikka, he’s not here._ ” He says this in Finnish but the look on Jinyoung’s face does not falter. The kind of look that people had when they stared at the stars and fell in love with the lights.

“ _Barrick, I missed you._ ” _Henrikka_ whispers, her thumb gliding up the cheekbones of Mark’s face. “ _I missed you so much._ ” Jinyoung’s voice is so low and intoxicating, a bewitching harmony in the dark and Mark fell for it. He fell into the hands that held him thinking of another whilst he sucked in a breath at the thought of the man before him.

“Jinyoung, come back,” Mark whispers the command and for a flicker of a second, he thinks he see’s something in Jinyoung’s eyes but he didn’t have enough time to catch it, because in the next second, Jinyoung’s eyes were shut and his lips were against Mark’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so close to fighting ao3 i have no IDEA WHY ITS SPACED IT OUT LIKE DIS SCREAMS.  
> anyway sorry i was a bit quiet the last chapter i went thru the worst writers block i was about to chuck my laptop out my window. but ive got it back i think *jazz hands*
> 
> hope you liked this chapter!!! hit me up at @silkscrews if ud like ~ bye bye


	14. ghosts

Everything seems to come into sharp focus the moment Jinyoung pressed his lips against Mark’s. The dust in the air, swimming in the moonlight just over Jinyoung’s shoulder. There’s the deep hum of the house, a silence that sleeps in the wood of the floor and the bricks of the walls. There’s a scent, a mix of bitter and intoxicating, like sweat melded in perfume. It smells of Jinyoung and Mark finds himself breathing it in between the gaps of their lips. 

Jinyoung has his palms pressed against Mark’s neck, his skin hot, tracing the line of his jaw. His touch trickles to the back of his neck where the smalls of his hair rise and his spine trembles under the heat in his fingertips. Mark swallows the feeling down and flutters his eyes shut, where behind his eyelids he see’s the wind in the sand and the sun falling off the edge of the world.

There’s a gasp, the sound like a hiss that cuts through the two of them like a knife to an apple and the coldness creeps up on Mark too quickly as Jinyoung breaks away from him and propels himself across the bed. There’s a look in his eyes like he’s made a mistake and fear, maybe of the repercussions to come. 

Mark takes in a shaky breath, his nails dug deep into the sheets below him as if to anchor himself from the lightheadedness that seems to wash over him like he was just going to float away. He feels breathless, Jinyoung’s lips had taken the air from his lungs and left him to suffocate. 

“Professor?” Jinyoung whispers, his voice comes out so small, a drop of water from a closed tap. 

Mark opens his lips to speak, but his jaw is stiff and the inside of his mouth is dry, and he thinks his heart has managed to crawl its way up his throat. He breathes through his nose and goes to rub at his temple, willing his body to come back to him. 

“Jinyoung,” He manages to force out, his own voice thick and hoarse. “Did you see that too?”

Jinyoung blinks, confused. “See what?”

_The end of the world._

“Nothing,” Mark murmurs, getting himself up off the bed. Jinyoung flinches, the slightest sound, like the creak of the bed startling him. “Are you alright?” 

Jinyoung puffs out a gust of air and sits up straighter from the corner of the bed he’s boxed himself into. He’s hidden himself in the shadows of this room, the moonlight like a metaphysical barrier between the two of them. Mark itches to cross it but there’s a wild look in Jinyoung’s eyes he doesn’t understand.

“What are you doing here?” Jinyoung asks almost accusingly.

“You were whining in your sleep, thought you were having a bad dream or something,” Mark barely audibly responds.

“This happens all the time, you didn’t have to wake me up, no-you shouldn’t, there’s no guarantee it’ll be me,” Jinyoung says the words almost desperately, anxiety speckled in the crescents of his eyes. 

“It’s fine, nothing happened,” Mark murmurs childishly, thriving silently in the hurt that flashes across Jinyoung’s face, it goes by so fast anyone else would pass it as a flicker of the eye. But Mark knows, he knows those eyes, Jinyoung’s pupils like the moon, shadows upon them like the memories that invade him. His eyes so open and vast as if they were a reflection of the universe itself. Past lives like dying stars that never fell, their end dragging forever in the limbo of Jinyoung’s mind. 

_He’s being defensive._

Mark wonders why he never noticed it before, the layer of glass Jinyoung wears so tightly like skin to the bones. He’s protecting himself from something, but how could one shield himself from the cluster of cocoons that have nestled on the inside only to sprout butterflies of ill thought? Jinyoung is at war with himself, and yet it wasn’t the lives burned to the back of his eyelids like a brand that he seems to want to hide himself from. 

“You don’t understand, Professor,” Jinyoung says quietly, and Mark thinks he can hear the flutter of wings on his tongue. “Not all of these lives...not everyone I was is _safe_.” 

“What do you mean?” Mark replies. There’s a challenge in his voice, like he’s waiting for Jinyoung to say something to push him away but Jinyoung’s eyes just seem to go vacant in that moment. 

“I can hear them Professor...so clearly, a storm of screams of children and woman, the cries of the men that mourned them,” He whispers the words laced with guilt. Shaky breaths bleeding into the room, they clink in the air and wrap themselves around Mark’s body like chains. “And what scares me the most isn’t the sound of people dying like their bodies are being ripped apart limb by limb...what scares me is the satisfaction I feel. Like I caused it and I couldn’t feel more content with the outcome.” 

Jinyoung folds into into the ball he’s morphed himself into. The shadows hungry to swallow him up, and he drowns in them willingly as if he could wish for nothing more than to melt into the darkness and disintegrate into nothing but space.

“Why are you blaming yourself for something someone else did?” Mark asks, and he thinks his words fizz into the air before they reach Jinyoung because he doesn’t move from where he is. He doesn’t even seem like he’s breathing. “You and Henrikka...you blame yourselves. Is it because you remember their actions like you remember your own? You remember their feelings as if you conjured them up yourself? But they’re not yours Jinyoung, you have no right to claim someone else’s guilt and actions, like you have no right to claim their happiness. They don’t belong to you.”

Jinyoung moves then, a fraction of a tilt of his head to reveal water edged eyes reflecting light like the night sky upon a lake. “Professor, do you think what we remember is really nothing but memories?” His voice comes out so fragile, muffled into the skin of his bare arms.

“What do you mean?”

Jinyoung takes in a deep breath, the sound like a wave to the coast. “Sometimes they feel too alive, sometimes...it’s like they’re alive.”

“They’ve died, Jinyoung.” Mark states flatly, despite the uncertainty that’s always settled in the back of his mind. _They have died,_ but sometimes it was too much like carrying two heart beats in his chest, like another conscience overlapping his own, and to lose his body like a possession to a ghost. Sometimes the prospect that they were nothing but memories seemed too bewildering, but what else could they be?

“Do you think death is really the end?” Jinyoung whispers the question like a secret shared beneath a blanket. 

Mark doesn’t know how to respond, because he’s seen the other side, a limbo of debris made up of souls, forgotten worlds hidden behind stars. A place where there’s no gravity, or darkness or light. A plane made up of edge of worlds where suns fall, and moons take the abyss as their home. 

“I’d like to think so, because if we don’t get to rest after all this, there has got to be a way to lose your mind in the afterlife,” Mark huffs, trying to go for a lighter mood but it was hard to ease the tension that seems to have sunk its teeth so deep into the atmosphere.

Mark thinks he sees the ghost of a smile on Jinyoung’s face but in the shadows it was easy for the mind’s eye to twist things, easy for Mark to see what he wanted to see. “Okay well I think I’ll leave you for now.” 

He turns to leave, his footsteps creaking with reluctance. “Professor…” Jinyoung calls out to his back. Mark stiffens with his hand to the door knob, he twists his neck to look just over his shoulder, it’s an awkward attempt in containing any sort of expectations that bubble up inside him. “It wasn’t me...before...it was Henrikka.” He says this with an unusual flatness to his voice, as if a lie hid somewhere under his tongue.

“Right,” Is all Mark says, in understanding, or maybe in irritance. Either way he doesn’t bother to give Jinyoung any final look before exiting his room with a swift swing of the door and a quietly harsh click from behind. He stands there for a moment, an inch of space between his back and Jinyoung’s door, his hand still twisted round behind him, latching onto the handle with a grip that tightens the veins in his hand. 

_It wasn’t Henrikka, even you know that right?_

Barrick’s voice is the last thing Mark wants to hear right now, his presence too much of a reminder of the feelings he used to swallow down when he was around Henrikka. His feelings too much like his own. 

_I had thought you simply did not understand before, but as I’m beginning to see, you just did not want to admit it._

Mark presses the heel of his hand to his eyes and inwardly wishes for the ghosts to disappear, for his mind to be his own for just a fraction of a moment. 

_You’re being ridiculous. You cannot help who you fall in love with._

Mark closes his eyes, transcending into the deepest of darkness. For a brief moment, he thinks he can feel Jinyoung’s heart through the door, a pulse in the wood, beating soothingly against his back. 

_...is it because he is a man or because he’s your student?_

“That’s not it…” Mark whispers to himself mostly. He presses his palm hard against his mouth, his nails scratching against his lips as if he could somehow grab the ghost trail of Jinyoung’s lips and capture it in his hand. 

_It’s not that I can’t...it’s that I shouldn’t._

_What do you mean?_

_You know how it feels don’t you? To have something so close to you, you think nothing could happen to it but in the next moment it’s gone-_

_’And you become nothing but a ghost with regret.’ I see, you fear losing him._

_No...Barrick. I can’t lose something I never had._

*

_August 6th 1827_  
Dear Barrick,

_I write this letter despite your lack of response, because it is a matter of urgency._

_Your sister has fallen gravely ill. The physician has come by again and again with no answers. She has been suffering from a high fever, and her stomach can hardly handle the food we give her._

_I fear of the worst my dear Barrick. I beg of you, please come and visit her. I do not know if your presence can do something but I'd hope it'd at least give her strength to fight._

_All my love, your Mother._

*

When Mihyun makes an entrance the next morning it’s with a frown so deep it could compete against Professor Jung’s. Which Mark isn’t particularly happy about because now he’s thinking about Professor Jung as he sips on his too-bitter coffee, bagged-eyes and dark circles staring up at her from above his mug.

“Good morning or should I say _shit_ morning because that is exactly the kind of one I’ve been having,” Mihyun snaps from the entrance of the kitchen. She looks a right mess, the blonde in hair dull, the curled ends looking lifeless, and her complexion as grey as the overbearing clouds Mark could see impending through the kitchen window. 

“Yeah, you look shit too,” Jinyoung mutters from across the table, an absolute look of contempt masking his face. He’s sitting opposite Mark which is excruciating because he’s so close and yet so skillfully avoiding Mark’s eyes, he was almost convinced Jinyoung just couldn’t see him. 

Mihyun throws daggers across the small living space, and Mark winces a little like he could feel their edges. “ _You._ Do you know the crowds I almost died in because people think I know your deepest darkest secrets?” 

“Well, you kind of do,” Jinyoung throws back, giving Mihyun a nonchalant shrug.

“I’ll kill you,” She spits. 

“ _Please._ ” Jinyoung almost begs and throws his head back. 

Mihyun raises an eyebrow at that, and in response she finally decides to acknowledge Mark’s existence, her expression almost softening. “Professor, you don’t look too chipper yourself.”

“Rough night,” He says looking directly at Jinyoung but Jinyoung’s still looking up at the ceiling, apparently far more interested in the chipped white paint branching out from the corners of the kitchen. “What were you being asked about?”

“More like what _wasn’t_ I asked about,” Mihyun huffs going to settle in the seat beside Jinyoung. She gives his perched legs a violent kick, knocking him up from his slumped position. “You know...his xenoglossy, what could it mean, was he born this way, am I dating him-”

“That is disgusting,” Jinyoung interjects. 

“You know what Jinyoung? I don’t need to go through this hassle for you, I’m here out of my own good will,” She puts a palm to her chest, and Mark almost swears her eyes glisten but whatever emotion seems to shimmer in her for a brief moment is stomped out the next second.

“You’re here because you couldn’t mind your business,” Jinyoung retorts flatly.

A smirk grows on Mihyun’s face and she instantly drops her hand onto her lap, “True. Is this what they mean when they say curiosity killed the cat?” 

“You’re not dead...yet.” Jinyoung says whimsically.

Mihyun’s face drops, “God, you’re morbid.”

“It kind of comes with being five hundred years old and all,” Jinyoung snorts. 

Mark’s watches them from across the table thinking about how much he’d rather be anywhere but here right now. Foul moods and grey clouds did not make up for a happy Mark, and with the extra bonus of Jinyoung completely ignoring him, he’s wondering if he should just pretend today isn’t a day at all and go back to bed. 

“I fucking hate old people,” Mihyun mutters sourly just as the garden door opens and Insook makes her way in. “Oh, jesus christ.” Mihyun facepalms and Jinyoung clutches his stomach in laughter. 

A rough gust of wind follows her inside, the cold brief but sharp against Mark’s skin. It doesn’t seem to phase her though, her face as flaccid as ever as she shuts the door behind her. In her hand is a basket full of strawberries, their bright red tips peeking out just from the sides of the thin blanket she’s placed upon them.

“Those for your daughter?” Mark asks, and it earns him the slightest turn of her lips. 

“Yes.” She simply replies.

“You don’t really talk much do you Ahjumma?” Jinyoung adds unnecessarily, his whole body twisting over his chair, apparently more than eager to give Mark his back. Mark takes a long loud sip from his drink, cringing a little at the already luke-warm coffee, too late to add an extra spoon of sugar. 

“You enjoying that Professor?” Mihyun asks with a cocked eyebrow and Mark almost finds himself choking.

“You talk a little too much, don’t-” Insook stops mid sentence, her attention gone from the strawberries in her hand to the bare counter. She looks up and stares up at the wall behind Mark where shelves of pots, containers of rice and beans, and plates are pressed together. 

All of a sudden Jinyoung exhales loudly and slumps in his seat, his shoulders seem to cave in on themselves and his head hangs off the back of the chair. Mark watches his back closely, rising and falling with small intakes of breath like he’s sleeping. Then he begins to shake, his body trembling from the tips of his fingers to the ends of his toes, a low whining sound rumbling in the base of his throat.

“Jinyoung?” Mihyun whispers. 

Her voice seems to flick a switch in him because then Jinyoung slowly begins to twist round and for the first time today his eyes finally meet Mark’s, but they don’t belong to him. “ _鳥..._ ” He whispers in a kindling fear as he looks up to the ceiling. 

“What’s going on?” Mark murmurs under his breath.

“Mark!” Insook calls out all of sudden. “There’s an earthquake.”

Mark looks up at Insook’s bewildered eyes and it’s then with a sudden jolt he hears the slosh of his coffee in his cup. Mihyun makes an audible squeak as the table too soon begins to tremble from beneath them, and quickly the whole kitchen feels as if it were going to unhinge from the floor and start to roll. 

“Get under the table!” Mark barks out the order and shoots up from his chair towards Insook. She’s clinging onto the wicker basket of strawberries with an iron grip, her body hunched forward in a strong will of preparation. “Ahjumma, I got you.” He whispers from beside her, and goes to cup her elbows in reassurance. She moves rigidly, the tremble in the ground rattling at her knees and she leans heavily onto Mark as they make their way back to the table.

Jinyoung’s still sitting in his seat, his eyes up to the ceiling while Mihyun cowers below, tugging at the hem of Jinyoung’s bottoms. “He’s completely out of it!” Mihyun whines. Just then, a stone pot slides from the shelf it’s propped on and slams onto the ground with a deafening crack. “Mother!” Mihyun screeches as she cowers deeper into a ball. 

Mark has his hand protectively to Insook’s head as he ushers her under the table, he thinks it’s the tremble in the ground that has him shaking but he quickly realises the nerves are short circuiting in him. His mind is everywhere; protecting Insook, worrying over Mihyun and making sure Jinyoung doesn’t decide to get up and do anything while the ground quaked from beneath them. 

However, just as Insook goes to bend under the table, the room slowly seems to stop rocking on its side and the rumble in the ground slowly begins to morph into a low groan and soon enough the earthquake comes to an end. The room becomes deathly silent, fear and vulnerability too thick in the air. 

“Is everyone okay…?” Mark asks as Mihyun crawls her way out from under the table, her hair now a disarray mess.

“What the hell was that?” She gasps, the remains of the earthquake still in her hands as she goes to sit back in her seat. 

“It wasn’t a bad one, thank god, but we should be careful just in case there’s an aftershock. You okay Ahjumma?” Mark asks, his hands still wrapped around her small frame protectively. She takes a deep breath in response and slides out from his grip. 

“I’m fine,” She murmurs and makes her way to the stone pot that found its grave in the cracked floor. “It wasn’t my first earthquake.” Mark watches her briefly, deciding not to poke at her pride and make a note of just how shaken up she looks and decides to take his attention to Jinyoung who is simply sitting in his seat, his hands clasped together in his lap.

“Jinyoung?” Mark calls out cautiously, even though the colour in Jinyoung’s eyes had come back, there’s a sort of emptiness in them now that wasn’t there before. “Jinyoung.” 

Jinyoung’s dazedly looks up to Mark, and Mark see’s him, see’s Jinyoung but it was like his soul had been squashed out and there was nothing left but the hollowness of a warm body. “The bird...is falling down.” He whispers this in Korean and then his eyes roll back.

He sways in his seat like a puppet at the end of a show, strings loose and limbs limp, and then he falls. Mark is already beside him though, waiting for his body to land against his, quick to encircle him in a protective bubble. 

“Is he okay?” Mihyun asks cautiously from the side, peering over the chair towards the two of them crouched on the floor. 

Mark looks up at her to reassure her but his words get stuck in his throat. There’s a wild look in Mihyun’s eyes, thoughts running rampant and Mark could see them as light as day. He’d never seen such an expression on her face, or maybe it is the fear he’d never seen in her before.

“He’s fine, his pulse is steady,” Mark says, his fingers pressing into the side of Jinyoung’s neck, the beat of his pulse comforting the nerves prickling under his skin. “I’m going to take him upstairs...can you look after her?” Mark asks her quietly, almost mouthing the request. 

Mihyun nods stiffly, giving Insook a brief look before returning her glance back to Jinyoung. Mark wants to ask her what she’s thinking about but now isn’t the time. Besides, from the look on her face Mark feels like it may be something he doesn’t want to hear.

Mark slips an arm underneath Jinyoung’s knees and another wraps around his shoulder, with a grunt he swoops the two of them up. He’s cradling him close, Jinyoung’s head bent into Mark’s shoulder. He smells of cologne and sweat, and Mark almost reels back at the memory of last night. 

He’d told himself to forget it, evidently it is something that Jinyoung doesn’t want to acknowledge, and he’d respect that. But the thing about wanting to forget something is that chances are you’ll probably just be reminded of it that just much more. Especially when he has triggers like Jinyoung’s breath gliding across the nape of his neck, or the feel of his hair tickling at his skin. Mark inhales deeply to settle himself, but instead it proves to be more detrimental than helpful and begrudgingly starts making his way out the kitchen and up the stairs.

Getting into Jinyoung’s room proves to be a bit of a struggle. Mark’s strength isn’t all it’s out to be and he’s shaking a little as he presses his back to the closed door of Jinyoung’s temporary room and shoves his elbow onto the handle, maneuvering awkwardly to turn it open. He trips back a little into the room, his fingers deep into Jinyoung’s skin and he’s about to crumble into the ground but pushes his last bit of strength on getting Jinyoung onto the bed.

“Jesus christ,” Mark huffs, settling himself upon the side of the bed. He thinks someone so skinny looking shouldn’t be so heavy and gives Jinyoung’s hip a little shove. He looks up at the room now, in daylight, last night almost feels like a wistful dream, only the lingering heat of what felt like Jinyoung’s lips against Mark’s telling him it _did happen._

A sigh fills the small space between them and Mark looks towards Jinyoung to find his eyes open. He’s looking up at the ceiling, his hands settled upon his stomach. “I’m getting kind of tired of this,” Jinyoung mutters and pushes himself upright, his jeans wrinkling against the covers as he slides up against the headboard. “Why are we always in this position?”

Mark thinks he’s meant to reply with something witty like _what other position would you like?_ but he isn’t really the witty type of person and any humour he does try comes out dry and awkward, and mildly torturing for him and the other party, so he just keeps his mouth shut. But he’s revelling a little in the fact Jinyoung’s looking him in the eye without batting an eyelash, like he could finally see him, or that he decided he no longer wanted to pretend Mark’s existence was an inconsistent one. 

“Are you alright?” Mark opts for saying instead, clenching his fist tight in some sort of endearing way to control himself. Controlling himself from what exactly, he can’t say he’s exactly sure, but he has this incessant need to _jump_.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I think,” Jinyoung says, flickering his eyes away from Mark’s in thought. “I remembered something new.”

“What? I thought you said you remembered all of them?”

“Yeah but there’s also two missing, aren’t there? The beginning, and the last.” Jinyoung looks a little complacent, an unsure expression on his face and Mark isn’t sure if he should push him for more answers or not. Or maybe he just didn’t know how to ask him for more? Their relationship is hanging in a limbo that was once their mentor type of relationship and a new, far more intertwined and complicated relationship. Mark unsure of himself, especially now something like age and position means nothing between them.

“Strawberries,” Jinyoung says all of a sudden. “When I saw the strawberries I remembered something that didn’t match with the others. I had a sister who loved them, strawberries. My mother used to grow a little in the garden in a pot but she couldn’t…” Jinyoung groans, his hands quickly reaching to his head. “Shit, it hurts.”

“Stop, Jinyoung,” Mark pulls at Jinyoung’s wrist. “The more you try to remember something you can’t, the more it’ll hurt you. Don’t. If it wants to come, or if they want you to see it, you will. Just leave it be, please.” 

Jinyoung stares up at Mark’s like he’s trying to un-code something. The ends of lips turned down ever so slightly like he’s trying to make sense of a thought. “You...almost sound worried.”

There isn’t mockery in his voice or sarcasm, but some genuine form of confusion. Mark let’s out an exasperated sigh and loosens his grip on Jinyoung’s hand. “Of course I’m worried. I’m worried about you.”

“Why? Because I’m a student? Because I’m He-” He bites his lip instantly, clearly stepping back from a line he drew and swore he’d never cross but there’s anxiety in his eyes, and upset lined in his frown and watching him now, so closely and intently, Mark feels like he’s come to understand something.

“It’s because you’re you,” Mark mutters unconfidently, not because he finds himself unsure or in a position of reluctance but maybe for the first time in a long time he’s found himself vulnerable. “Since the moment I first saw you, you made me think. And that may sound ridiculous coming from a philosophy professor, but the thing is, Jinyoung, there aren’t many people like that. People that make you think.”

Jinyoung chews on his lip, maybe in his own form of holding himself back, because just as much as the confusion is etched into his face, so is this new more open expression. “Think about what? Think about the world? Think about...me?” 

Mark takes in a quiet breath and he itches to make some space between the two of them, more so than they already are but he knows it’ll mean more than just a physical divide for Jinyoung so he holds his ground, and instead let’s the floor take his eyes. “Yes. I’m not easy for people to get close with, and I didn’t find myself interested in other people all that much. I suppose I grew up my life trying so hard to block out Barrick I ended up blocking other people too. But you...since the first time I saw you walk into my lecture, way before your memories began to resurface, I guess I haven’t been able to stop thinking…” 

“Professor,” Jinyoung calls out, he’s leaned in closer towards Mark, a sparkle of confidence glittering in his eyes. “It wasn’t Henrikka...last night, it was me. Or half-asleep me at least.”

Mark finds himself smiling a half-smile. “I know.” He says almost in a sort of revenge that tasted more like sugar than rust, and he’s far more than content to see the little look of embarrassment completely take over his face. Jinyoung’s cheeks bloom in a dusty rose and Mark doesn’t feel any qualms in taking his thumb to the skin of his face, and stroking the circle of colour like he could rub it off. “It’s good to see you look like...well, alive.” He wants to say it jokingly, but there’s no laughter in his voice, and he realises then just how desperate he is to see Jinyoung _alright_. To stop watching him fall into darknesses not even fires could drown out, to see the life in his eyes flutter away as if death weren’t an end but an inevitable forever. 

“Professor,” Jinyoung murmurs, taking his own hand to settle over Mark’s. “You should be careful.”

“Of what?” 

Jinyoung slides his face so his lips are pressed against Mark’s palm as he smiles into the lines of his hands. “I’m not a very patient person, just to let you know.” There’s mischief sparking in his eyes and secrets dug into the ends of his lips, and his voice is laced with words unsaid.

Mark slides his hand away from Jinyoung, thinking maybe this time he’s really managed to capture the ghost of his lips and quickly presses his hand to his own. “Neither am I.” He hums to himself, but loud enough for the two of them.

*

“Apparently the earthquake only hit the west of Seoul,” Mihyun announces from where she’s seated on the living room sofa watching the news. Mark stares at the back of her head from the entrance of the room, feeling a little uncomfortable to step in. Not that the living room was off limits but it isn’t a place either him or Insook took much use of. There’s an old TV pressed to the opposing wall and an old faded teal sofa slap bang in the middle. Frames and pictures of Insook and her husband when they were younger are scattered across drawers with their legs caving in on them, including the odd baby picture here and there which Mark assumed was their daughter.

“Didn’t even think that television turned on, it looks older than me,” Mark comments, stiffly making his way deeper into the room. It’s the only room in the house with carpet, and it feels a little ticklish against his bare feet. (Mark isn’t much of a slipper man.)

“Doubt it is, I still remember these box things when I was young, even remembered to change the channel from the tv, there’s no remote, that or it’s turned to dust,” Mihyun snorts. “Anyway it seems it wasn’t that big of an earthquake, we were in the centre of it but what’s odd is that usually there’s forewarnings for earthquakes like these. You know scientists behind their little computers and squiggly lines, watching the plates and what-not.”

“ _And what-not_ , not like it’s an important job or anything,” Mark retorts with a roll of his eyes which Mihyun seems to sense because she’s quick to throw a glare over her shoulder. 

“That’s my point, no fore-warning at all...it’s like it came out of nowhere,” Mihyun grumbles.

“You can’t predict everything, Mihyun.” 

“Can’t predict what?” Jinyoung asks as he makes his way into the living room. He’s changed into a new pair of clothes, a different pair of loose jeans and a striped t-shirt. His hair is damp from the shower he took, slightly towel dried and a little frizzy at the top and Mark has to remind himself it’s not particularly natural to want to brush the top of his head till it’s neat. 

“Earthquakes,” Mihyun says and then looks back over the shoulder. “Besides, what happened to you?”

“The usual,” Jinyoung shrugs and Mihyun narrows her eyes. 

“Did you really just say that? I mean no matter how long this has been going on, there’s nothing usual about this situation at all. By the way am I the only one thinking it’s a coincidence that at the same time Jinyoung dips into one of his possession fests, an earthquake happens?” She’s doing the thing where she’s talking without thinking, her brain to mouth filter completely dashed for maybe what Mark thinks is a budding fear in Mihyun that she never showed until now.

Mark notices Jinyoung stiffen from beside him, and quickly interjects. “The strawberries are what triggered him, the earthquake was just a coincidence.”

“Mmmhmm,” Mihyun hums and turns back to settle in the sofa. “Or maybe the strawberries triggered him, and he triggered the earthquake?”

“You can’t be serious right now,” Mark almost snaps, a little annoyed at how easily she was spouting words that were definitely going to grow into horrible weeds in the back of Jinyoung’s mind.

“I don’t know, Professor, these days, is anything impossible?” She says, looking a little dazed out as she watches the television. “If there’s more to what the eye can see, then I’m starting to think we’re are all pretty much blind.”

Jinyoung’s made his way to the back of the sofa where he hovers over Mihyun’s head and with one quick move of his hand he slaps a palm to her forehead and cranes her neck backwards so that they’re looking down and up at each other. “Stop thinking, you do too much of it.”

Mihyun blinks up at him in mild shock and then quickly laughs. “I guess I do.” 

“No guesses, enough, you need some rest.” 

“Resting feels like too much of a privilege right now when I know you die every time you close your eyes,” She half-jokes and slides her away from under Jinyoung, getting up off the sofa. “Either way I need to start heading home, I have no clue if my dorm room is still intact after that shake up. I’ll come by tomorrow.”

“Don’t even, what are you going to do here but be a bother?” Jinyoung puts it bluntly and at some point Mark may have tried to put himself between the two to soften the blows but he figures now they’ve just formed some type of special relationships only sadists can understand.

“Love you too Jinyoungie.” She says finally with a skip and wink and makes her way passed the two of them into the hallway. Mark and Jinyoung watch her from the entry of the living room as she slips on her shoes and exits by the front door. 

“Where’s the old lady?” Jinyoung asks curiously as he makes his way out into the hallway and into the kitchen. 

Mark follows him in, peering out through the glass door towards the garden. “Think she went to her daughter’s place.” 

“Wow, nothing phases that woman,” Jinyoung says with a shake of his head as he heads to the fridge and peers inside. “I could cry, I’ve not seen so much side-dishes since I went home last winter break.” He excitedly starts popping out containers of food, piling them up on the kitchen counter.

Mark makes his way back to the table where he’s left his deserted coffee, giving the muddy looking substance inside a grimace. “I can never make a good cup of coffee.” Mark mutters as he makes his way to the sink, more than happy to see the concoction swirl down the drain.

“That’s surprising,” Jinyoung says between mouthfuls of food, he hasn’t even bothered to set out a plate and just took a chopstick to the opened containers. “Thought you were the I’m-good-at-everything type of person.” 

“I am not good at everything,” Mark half-laughs. “If I was life would be so much easier than it is now.” 

“What’s hard about it? I mean really in this life, minus you know the dead talking.” Jinyoung taps his chopsticks to the table and gives Mark a look. “In France, you know who you were?”

“I don’t know if I should know,” Mark replies unsurely.

“Don’t worry I won’t give you gross details,” Jinyoung says, chewing fast and swallowing down his mouthful. “You were a war nurse, everyone had a crush on you.”

“I was female?” Mark raises an eyebrow at that. He didn’t think he was a male throughout all his lives really but he only ever remembered being a man. “Interesting.”

“Yeah, you were like godly, which maybe was the excessive amount of testosterone talking but literally everyone in my platoon was fawning over you,” Jinyoung says, smiling a little warmly, his chopsticks settled upon his lips. “Of course, I was the only person back then that could have caught your attention. We both had incredibly high standards.”

“Uh-huh, you’re not by chance twisting this round to mend any wounded egos?” Mark chuckles as he goes to pick up the kettle, popping the lid upon and filling it up with water. He may not be able to make coffee, but nothing could go wrong with tea.

“Of course not, do you know how popular I was before the war?” Jinyoung defensively remarks, poking his cutlery in the air. “Bronze hair, slight freckles, a jaw that could kill! I was clearly the only one up to your standards.” 

“God help me if I was that superficial,” Mark says as he pops in two spoons of sugar into his mug, watching the little white crystals melt into the deep red of his tea. It reminds him vaguely of the tea sessions Barrick and Henrikka had, she always liked four cubes in her tea, and Barrick always gagged at it. 

“You weren’t,” Jinyoung says, pulling Mark’s attention back. “You were kind-hearted and tender, outrageously independent and sometimes a little angry, you hated the situation you were in but you felt a responsibility to the men that were fighting. Even when you were afraid, you loved stronger than anyone could ever.” 

Mark’s hiding his face behind his mug, the steam from his drink vaguely clouding his vision. He’s not entirely sure how he’s supposed to respond to that. Even though he knew he was talking about someone else, Mark couldn’t help but feel the strings at his heart tug a little.

“Boy, have you changed.” Jinyoung chides, taking his attention back to the food before him.

“Excuse me?” Mark retorts, placing his mug beside him on the counter. “I didn’t _change_ , I’m a completely different person.” He’s also incredibly offended but he wasn’t going to let Jinyoung know that.

“Yeah, I know, but it’s kind of weird how different you are in every life, like I know you don’t remember but don’t you think there’d be some type of correlation to why I always end up falling in love with you?” Jinyoung says it all so naturally and smoothly Mark almost didn’t pick up on the last bit.

“You’re in love with me?” Mark asks with a very fine raise of his eyebrow, he picks up his mug again and sips on it quietly, watching Jinyoung from over the rim of the cup. 

Jinyoung’s looking down at the containers, his chewing slightly slower than before and he’s got one hand gripping the counter as he leans over it. “I didn’t say that,” He coughs, and gives Mark a look. “That’s not what I meant.” 

“Uh-huh,” Mark’s smiling widely into his cup, not really thinking about just how much the heat from his drink is scalding his lips. 

Jinyoung groans deeply and goes to shovel four mouthfuls full of food in one go, as if it could hide just how embarrassed he is right now. Mark watches him as he chews violently wondering if this was really okay, wondering if he could give in maybe. He couldn’t help but think if they were fated to always meet, did that mean they were always fated to part?

_You’re wrong, Mark._

_Barrick?_

_He is not fate. Fate would be a blessing, fate would mean it’s written in the stars. Fate would say this is meant to be. But this is a curse, we have always been a curse, nothing more, and nothing less. A curse made up of forever, a forever always at an arm's length from each other. So while you can still grab his hand, Mark, I’d suggest you do it because you never know when the fire will come._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh im so sorry it took so long for this to come out. i have had the most disgusting amount of writers block i was about to shave my head. but i think ive finally gotten over it and the chapters will roll out a better pace. thank you for waiting patiently and hopefully i didnt disappoint you too much ~
> 
> once again if u wanna talk ~ @silkscrews


	15. a wreck

Turku, _1827_

Barrick’s first taste of regret was on the day he’d come home for the first time in six years to find his little sister already gone. Ache was an understatement, the fury blinding, while the immense, suffocating feeling of regret rendered him to his knees. He came home to a coffin already in the ground, to his parents with wrinkles and black clothes, and tears that refused to spill from his eyes. 

He’d told his sister stories when they were young, things like you could hear the dead in the wind, last wishes in the whistle of the air. He sits at her grave wondering if she’s speaking to him now, if the wind tickling at his forehead was her trying to comfort him somehow, trying to tell him _it’s okay, I’m okay._ but deep down he knows it’s just some twisted form of self-comfort because it isn’t okay. 

_It isn’t okay._

He’d left his home because a small town wasn’t enough for how big he wanted to be. He never returned home because his pride never matched his position. He avoided his mother’s letters often because he didn’t want to admit that still, after six years of growing up on his own, after turning into a man, deep down he stilled wanted his mother and his father. Deep down was still the fifteen year old boy. 

She deserved more, his sister deserved the most. She deserved an older brother, and he’d spent years comforting himself, telling himself that he’d make it up to her. That’d he wait till he was successful, and then he’d give her the world. So how was he supposed to know that in the end it was going to be the world that took to her? 

Barrick thinks briefly of Henrikka; of all the life’s she must have lived, of all the people she must have known, and all the grief she must feel. He wonders how people can possibly live like this, this feeling like your insides were slowly shrivelling up and drying you out. He wonders if it’s possible for a feeling to turn you into dust. 

If time eases the pain, then was a week enough for Barrick to mourn and then move on with his life? He dreads the thought of leaving now, he dreads the thought of knowing his sister is under the soil all alone and cold, he wants to bury himself with her. To cradle her to sleep like he did when she was could barely understand that the shadows in her room weren’t meant to harm but that they’re there to protect her. 

A week to travel home, a week to mourn, a week to travel back. Barrick couldn’t help but feel like something was coming to a close, something creeping up on him. Something inevitable. He’d left Henrikka with tears welling up in her eyes, he left her begging for him to stay. He couldn’t forget the sound of fear that weaved in her words, the feel of her shaky palms upon his arms as he made his way to the travelling tradesman. He promised he’d return within three weeks, but he couldn’t guarantee he’d be the same person.

*

Seoul, _2016_

For all eight months Mark has been working at Yonsei university, this would have been the first time he’s ever willingly decided to visit Professor Jung’s office. Not to say either he or her seem happy about it, but he takes a little pride in the fact he hasn’t come today with the primal instinct of survival kicking in. 

“Professor Tuan, what do I owe this pleasure? Please, take a seat.” She says robotically, not looking up from her desk. 

“No thank you, I’ve just come to notify you about something.” Mark says from where he is, just barely a step away from the door.

“Well, what is it then?” She presses, clearly the few ten seconds he’s taken up has been ten seconds too long. 

“I’ve decided to continue my contract for the rest of the year.” He announces.

This, in turn, finally garners Professor Jung’s attention. She pauses mid pen stroke and looks up from her desk. “This is sudden, although pleasant to hear. You’ve saved me a lot of work, Professor Tuan.”

Mark grimaces ever so slightly. Not like he was expecting her undying devotion of how much she respects him as a fellow intellect but to be brushed away like he was a pest problem did wound his ego just a little bit. 

“Well, that’s it. I’ll get going then,” Mark awkwardly shuffles on his feet, and Professor Jung returns back to her work without another word said. He’s about to make his way out of the room but pauses just as he reaches out for the door knob. Gingerly, he peers over his shoulder and decides to take this new found confidence to a higher level. “Professor Jung.”

“Yes?” She replies in a tone that would otherwise say _you haven’t left yet?_

“…you’re distaste for me has been pretty evident from the beginning, I guess I just don’t understand why you requested for me in the first place if you believe I was going to be too much of a hassle.” He says quickly, his worlds tumbling into each other and he doesn’t try to let his uncertainty show in his shoulders. 

Professor Jung looks down at her still hand for a moment before lifting her head. She takes off her glasses and places them gently on the desk. “You aren’t that special Mr Tuan, I have an outright distaste for most things. But to answer your question, it wasn’t me that petitioned for you to lecture here.”

“It wasn’t?” Mark is taken back. In hindsight there wasn’t really anything that had pointed towards Professor Jung requesting for him in the first place other than the fact that she had made the initial call and handled all his paperwork and contracts when he first arrived. He’d just assumed it was her that made the request in the first place.

“No, it was Professor Choi. He’d come to me with your recently published thesis and had basically pitched to me the benefits of inviting you here. I had nothing to lose, and we had seen a decline in international applications, thankfully that is something your presence has improved.” She licks her lips and smiles a little, it’s not wide or wicked, but it still makes Mark cringe. “Anyway, is that all?”

Mark nods uncertainly, “Yes, thank you Professor Jung.” 

“Also Professor Tuan…” She calls out to his back and when he turns around, her glasses are already back on her nose. “You may think I’m just a tyrant here but I hope you understand to some extent that my job is to make sure the university runs smoothly. And just as you are under me and have to meet my expectations, I am also under someone else, and I am continuously trying to meet their expectations.”

Mark blinks at her, he realises her words may have lead to an opening somewhere he’d never seen from her before but she said it with such flatness he wonders if he’d just misheard that whole monologue. “Right, of course.” Is all he ends up saying and gives her a nod, quickly exiting the office.

Standing in the hallway, Mark finds a crease has formed in between his eyebrows. _Youngjae?_ He’d never mentioned anything about this. When Mark first arrived here, Youngjae was of the few friendly staff members that hadn’t shied away from him, and they’d just naturally become closer. Youngjae had mentioned he’d read some of Mark’s work before, but not to the extent it garnered him a transfer request. 

“Professor?” Someone calls out and Mark jumps at the sight of Jinyoung beside him.

“ _Jesus_ , Jinyoung. Can you make some noise?” Mark complains.

Jinyoung narrows his eyes, “You know you do this thing where you completely zone out and don’t hear anything for a while?” 

“You mean what you do on a day to day basis?” Mark asks with a cock of his eyebrow. “Anyway, what are you doing here? I told you to stay in the car.”

“Do you know how suffocated I am? I’ve been holed up in that cottage-mansion for like three days now. I’m going to bite my hand off.” Jinyoung seethes. He was right, Mark had warned him off going outside for as long as possible but anyone would start feeling cramped by this point. 

“But still the university is one place you won’t get a breather, let’s go before someone notices you, everyone’s probably in class right now.” Mark says with a pat to his back and Jinyoung gives him a little pout in return but still follows his guide willingly. 

“What were you talking to Professor Jung about anyway?” 

“Among all the mayhem I forgot to tell her that I wasn’t leaving anymore,” Mark says as the two of them turn out into the quart-yard where a few students are speckled around the benches and patches of green. Luckily there weren’t that many students out, being it summer and all most of the under-graduates have gone home for the break, leaving the campus for the post-grads to take over. That being said, Mark’s still nervous, just one person noticing Jinyoung now could set off a crowd. 

“I’m in a hoody, no one can see my face Professor, relax.” Jinyoung says, and Mark swears he can hear him roll his eye from under the shadow of his hood.

Mark let’s out a huff and pats the top of his cotton head, “I know, I know.” 

They make their way back to Mark’s car, just parked off the side of the road from the quart-yard and buckle themselves in. Mark pauses mid-motion, his hand to the ignition. “You know what?” He says mostly to himself as he turns the car on. It rumbles to life, apparently as eager as Mark to get going. “Let’s go for a drive.”

Jinyoung shifts out of his hood and looks to the side, “Go where?”

“Anywhere,” Mark shrugs, and starts turning the car out onto the road. “We’ve both been holed up for too long. So let’s just drive.” 

Jinyoung settles into his seat and gives Mark a meek nod of agreement. So they drive, Mark not really having a destination but craving the need for the wind in his hair. He opens the windows to the lowest and speeds up, letting the air ride with them.

It makes him think of the sea, of the wind that tackled the coast. Fishing ports and trading docks, old men and young men pulling in boats with their ropes, and the sound of fishing rods reeling out into the water. There’s the cheery waves of laughter and the sound of men arguing over nothing like ghosts speaking to him through the wind. 

“I know that face,” Jinyoung says from beside him, pulling him out gently from his thoughts. “You’re reminiscing.”

Mark pulls up the windows on either side of the car so the roar of the wind becomes nothing but a whistle and gives Jinyoung a quick smile. “You know the definition for reminiscing is indulging in past events? But for some reason whenever I find myself reminiscing it’s never really about the memories I experienced. They’re always Barrick’s.”

“You’re not happy with your current life?” Jinyoung asks, looking out across the highway. The little strands to the top his head are dancing in the breeze, his shoulders soft against the seat, and Mark thinks this may be the first time he’s seen Jinyoung look so relaxed.

“It’s not that I’m unhappy...but rather I think I spent this life focusing too much on pretending Barrick didn’t exist. Pretending I was ‘normal’, making sure no one found out about me, that I never really lived. I just went with the flow, education then job, minimal relationships.” Mark says, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the wheel. “I didn’t get into trouble, I didn’t bother, so that means I never really failed either, I guess I felt tired of life. I’d already lived once, I couldn’t bare continuing something I already knew the end to.”

“You never dated someone? Ever thought about having a family or something?” Jinyoung asks, watching Mark’s side profile. 

He shrugs, “Not really. The thought kind of scared me actually. What If I remembered my last life and I could meet my grandchildren? Or great-grandchildren. It’s a bit scary, the idea of remembering a life and having to start a new one with different people while your old one continued on. Am I making sense?” 

“Yeah...you are. Although I’ve never had children, not in any of my lives. But I get the vague idea I know what it feels like to have one. Maybe in some sense every life after the other feels like a child. Like they’re all watching over me, protecting me.” Jinyoung says, he’s tugging at the hem of his sleeves like he usually does when he’s thinking about something, when he’s _here_. 

“I see, you’re a family in your own sense.” 

“In our own twisted sense, yeah,” He snorts and gives Mark a quick look from the side. He’s biting his lip a little in thought. “Professor…” 

“Hm?” Mark hums, looking up at the sky through the windshield. It’s sunny out but there’s the anxious curl of grey clouds crawling from the corner of the sky and Mark wonders if they’re going to get caught in rain.

“Are you gay?” 

Mark’s foot slips and he presses on the brake on instinct, the car jolting and coughing up for a second. The blare of honks whizz by them as Mark slows down all of sudden, disrupting the speed of traffic. 

“Was that a bad question?” Jinyoung gulps, his hand clenched to the car door.

“No, it’s just- my foot slipped, and you caught me off guard with that topic. We were talking about one thing and you mentioned- I just. Ok, hm.” Mark clears his throat and shuffles in his seat. He tries to roll out his shoulders and relax but now he’s become too hyper aware of Jinyoung.

“Well, it’s different for the two of us, you know? I’ve been female and male, and eventually genders just become a blur to me, but you’ve only been male, or at least you only ever remember being male so I was just wondering, I guess.” He’s looking uncomfortable where he is. In the car there is no corner for him to hide in and fold into so now he’s just trying to hide his face casually with his hand. 

“Can I tell you the truth?” Mark says as they turn into the right lane, slowing down a little bit. “I don’t really know, or I guess I never thought about it. I guess in some sense, sexuality doesn’t mean much to me. I haven’t ever really dated anyone long term, and anyone I have been with was female just because it was easier. But…” He gives Jinyoung a look, and then quickly returns back to the road. “It may be a little different now.” 

Jinyoung visibly stiffens and Mark finds himself smiling. “Have you dated anyone though? I’m sure people were all over you?”

“I like the use of past tense, Professor.” Jinyoung deadpans but he’s smiling too. “Yeah, I dated a girl when I was an under-graduate for three years but when we graduated she had to go back to her hometown in Daegu, I guess breaking up was just inevitable.”

“So what you were straight before and now you’re not?”

Jinyoung tilts his head in thought and hums, “I don’t think it works like that. I kind of think growing up in society that tells you you’re either straight or not is a pretty restrictive. I mean what if sexuality is just a spectrum, there’s no percentage to how much you may like girls or how much you may like guys? But society just tells you have to conform to this or that, some people may be more susceptible to it and others may not be. I don’t know, in the end I think you just fall for people, not gender.”

“I never thought about it like that,” Mark nods, looking up at the highway signs. One has an arrow pointing to the right towards Panmunjon and he impulsively takes the turning. “So am I the first male you’re aware of falling for?”

Jinyoung freezes now, a hand to his mouth and he’s staring hard at the dashboard as if almost wishing for something horribly drastic to happen. But seconds tick by and nothing does, and Jinyoung eventually realises he has to respond. “I told you it isn’t like that.” He forces out. 

“You’re pretty bad at lying Jinyoung, you know that?” 

“Wrong, Professor, I’m actually a great liar. It’s just that part of my brain that makes me function seems to break down around you is all. So really this whole awkward situation is your fault.” Jinyoung grumbles, his lips pursed out into a pout and Mark can’t help but choke in laughter.

“How did you manage to twist it around like that? Why is this my fault?” He chuckles, but Jinyoung isn’t playing cute anymore and is instead looking out towards the road with a distant look.

“I can’t tell you how...or when. Honestly I don’t even really know. It’s just...at first you were hope to me, and now you’re more.” He says softly, so softly the wind could have easily taken it away from Mark before it reached him. 

There’s a large sign reading _pit stop_ pointing towards a road that disappears into a corner and Mark quickly takes the turning. They reach a parking lot bordered with restaurants, a hotel, and a gas station. Mark doesn’t really think about where or how he’s parked, he just takes the seemingly most easiest, emptiest spot at the back of the lot and turns off the car.

Jinyoung looks around curiously, “Are we grabbing food or something?”

Mark takes a deep breath and unbuckles his seatbelt. Then, in a burst of bravery, he leans over to the passenger seat and presses his lips against Jinyoung’s. Jinyoung blinks wide eyed, shock and fluster running around in them, and his cheeks quickly warm up to Mark’s touch. “What are you doing?” Jinyoung says against Mark’s lips. He’s already relaxed against him, and his eyes look seconds away from fluttering shut.

Mark takes another shaky breath in and inches back by just a fraction, “Just let me try something, okay?” He leans closer to Jinyoung and presses their lips together, this time Jinyoung more welcoming to the touch. Mark has his hand just delicately cradling his jaw and Jinyoung must notice his hand shaking because he takes it into his own and intertwines their fingers together. Their lips move slowly, bottom lip against top lip, softness and warmth, and Mark thinks of honey and feathers. 

Jinyoung takes his hand to the back of Mark’s neck and pulls him in closer, there’s a low rubble in his throat and Mark’s more than eager to taste it. He shivers under his touch and finds himself desperate for more than sweet pecks and plush lips. “Mark,” He breathes and Mark responds to the call with a more heated kiss. 

Hot breaths fill the space between them, low murmurs and hoarse moans meld together so tightly they couldn’t tell whose voice belonged to who. Mark has a hand against the back of Jinyoung’s seat, his fingers digging into the leather so tightly like it could hold himself back from slipping into a kiss that tasted so much like hunger and wanting. He’d never kissed someone like this, he never knew it was possible to kiss someone like this. His heart in his throat and he’s weak in his knees, and he wonders if it’s possible to feel this trapped by someone’s touch. 

They part eventually, too soon, or maybe after too long, Mark can’t tell. He’s dizzy with heat and he’s struggling to breathe. He almost feels embarrassed but then he looks down at Jinyoung who looks so pink in the cheeks, his lips swollen and mildly red and suddenly Mark’s overcome with this bittersweet pain. 

Jinyoung’s staring at Mark’s lips and Mark swallows down to keep whatever lingering resolve he has left to sit back in his seat. This is then where the imminent awkward atmosphere starts leaking in, and where Mark should start regretting something right about now, but nothing hits him and he’s wondering if the situation is malfunctioning in on itself or maybe Mark didn’t just do something incredibly stupid. He’s pretty sure he did something stupid.

“Professor.” 

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to the bathroom real quick.” Jinyoung says and basically lurches for the car handle.

“Yup, yup, go ahead, I’ll just wait here…” Mark says quickly as Jinyoung exits the car. “And die.” He slams his head back into the seat once, twice, three times until he feels like a fourth could be borderline concussion inducing and sighs. “Idiot-”

“Professor.” Jinyoung calls out, looking at him through the small opening in the window.

“Shit! Yes, I mean hello-what?” Mark clears his throat and sits up in his seat. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong just in case you started panicking there, I’ll be back.” Jinyoung’s voice is so calm and low Mark could almost hear the wires in his head short-circuiting. 

“Yeah, right, got it.” Mark says and Jinyoung gives him a nod before sprinting down the car park. 

Mark then slams his head down to the wheel where he settles his forehead, the centre pulsing in pain. “What are you doing?” He asks himself quietly. Right now wasn’t a time for romantic endeavours, not when Jinyoung’s degree was at stake, not when their lives were at risk, nothing about this was appropriate. But Mark couldn’t help but think about Barrick’s words, _while you still can...grab his hand_. If there was one thing Mark didn’t want to take as his own, it was Barrick’s feelings of regret. Wretched twisted feelings that felt too much like suffocation and tasted too much like blood to the tongue - he’d take anything but that.

When Jinyoung returns it’s just started to rain, droplets staining the windshield. When he jumps back into the car he brings with him cold air and the faint scent of hand soap. The nerves seem to have settled within Mark now, his insides feeling a little like the blue sky cluttered with sickly clouds. He didn’t want to feel like he’d done something bad, but he couldn’t help it either. 

“I wanted to take us to the coast, but I don’t think the weather’s going to ease up by the time we get there,” Mark says, giving Jinyoung the most natural look he could conjure. He thinks his lip twitched, no, his lip definitely twitched. 

“It’s alright Professor, I’m already feeling better.” Jinyoung says, slipping on his seatbelt. “But you’re not going to pretend what just happened didn’t happen are you?” 

“No, I’m not.” Mark almost instinctively replies.

Jinyoung’s smiling a little as he settles into the passenger seat, “That’s good.” 

Mark gives him another look, but a little more contemplating this time. In some vague moment of cowardice he actually thought about pretending it didn’t happen, but then the idea hurt himself more than he would like so he just scrapped that. That didn’t stop the demon on his shoulder from whispering in his ear, convincing him what he did was either crossing a line between their teacher-student relationship, or maybe Mark just took advantage of Jinyoung’s feelings, or maybe he just misread Jinyoung’s feelings for him entirely. Either way he was trying not to let the anxiety eating away at him show on his face.

“Professor, are you okay?” Jinyoung asks after waiting a moment too long, Mark’s hand hovering over the ignition. He just needs to turn the keys but even such a simple command can’t seem to make a proper circuit to his brain.

“Yes, maybe- no not really. Just to be clear, that was consensual, right?” Mark mumbles.

Jinyoung looks at him with a tilt of his head, trying to read Mark’s expression. Mark, however, is imminent on keeping his face flat. “Yes.”

“I didn’t take advantage of you?”

“No.”

“We sure?”

“Are you sure?”

Mark bites his tongue. “I just need to make sure I didn’t just absolutely destroy something here, Jinyoung.”

“Well…” Jinyoung looks up at the dull sky from his window, a smile itching to play on his face. “Nothing I wouldn’t have destroyed eventually, Professor.” He says the last word like he was laughing at some personal joke, but the lightness in his voice eases Mark’s nerves and it’s enough to melt the tension in his hand so he can get the car started.

“Okay...let’s get some food and pick up Mihyun while we’re on our way home, hm?” Mark says, giving Jinyoung’s head a quick rub before he takes it to the wheel and pulls the car out of the parking lot.

“Yeah.” Jinyoung responds.

Exiting the pit stop, Mark doesn’t miss the little rub Jinyoung gives himself on the head, and the smile in the reflection of the rain tattered window.

*

It’s late in the evening when Mark makes a visit to Youngjae’s apartment. Now that he thinks about it, Mark’s probably never visited Youngjae’s place during the day. He can’t seem to imagine what the flat that's always settled itself in darkness would look like in the brightness of day.

“Evening,” Mark says, holding up a pack of beers. 

Youngjae’s staring at him through lopsided glasses and heavy lidded eyes. 

“Were you napping?” Mark asks, and Youngjae barely nods in response. “Do you ever sleep on a regular schedule?” 

“...difficult to sleep.” Youngjae mumbles as he lets Mark into his home. As usual, the second Mark steps in, he regrets everything. The heaters seem to be set to full blast and the windows don’t even look like they’ve been touched since he moved in, and Mark’s wondering how Youngjae hasn’t suffocated to death yet. 

“Why is the heater always on? What’s wrong with you? It’s summer.” Mark complains from the front door as he shuffles out of his shoes. Youngjae’s already deep into his living room, turning on the lights and shuffling to the open kitchen. “Oh shit.”

Now Mark’s always known Youngjae has a knack for making a wreck out of any space he’s claimed his own. In fact after the first few visits to Youngjae’s apartment, Mark had begun to specifically schedule his visits for after the cleaner made a visit. So Mark knows he’s made a mistake now because the living room seems to be drowning. There isn’t a single flat piece of furniture that hasn’t been covered in papers and files. 

“I know what this is, I know exactly what this means.” Mark mumbles, narrowing his eyes at the laptop on the coffee table, snuggled right in between what looks like a mountain of purple highlighted articles. “You’re writing a paper?” He asks, almost in horror.

Youngjae’s staring at Mark from across the living space like his soul has completely departed his body. “You know when you read one thing and you just suddenly start tumbling and now you can’t stop?”

“Yup, that’s it. So what’s the topic?” Mark asks curiously, picking up a random picture up from the floor beside his foot. It’s of a desert, black and white, and below it the caption _Talkamakan desert, 1899._

“Do you have time for me to tell you?” 

“How long will it take?”

“About a week.”

“I think I’m okay,” Mark smiles cheekily and quickly drops the picture to the coffee table. “Got enough to think about as it is.”

“How is Jinyoung?” Youngjae asks as he bends down into his fridge, pulling out a carton of apple juice. Mark quickly marches his way to the island counter, snatching the carton into his hands as Youngjae turns around with a glass cup. “Do you want some?”

Mark looks up at him with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Are you asking me because you’ll know I say no or because you know I know there isn’t actual apple juice in there?”

Youngjae grabs the carton out of his hand and goes to pour himself a drink, “That’s not true. There is apple juice in here. And vodka.” Mark slaps a hand to the top of the glass and drags it away from Youngjae.

“I brought beer for a reason.” He says and settles the six pack onto the counter. Youngjae looks up from his circle lenses and eyes Mark for a moment before letting his grip on the cup go. “That’s a responsible adult.”

“Don’t mock me,” Youngjae retorts with a roll of his eyes. He goes to the six pack and grabs a can, popping it open.

“What’s with you hiding vodka in juice cartons anyway?” Mark says, sniffing at the drink and cringing at the bitter scent.

“My mother comes often and stuffs my fridge up. She’s anti-alcohol, you wouldn’t even believe.” Youngjae sighs as he makes his way round back into the living room, eyeing his living room with a narrow look.

“What if she fancied a cup of apple juice one day?”

Youngjae looks over his shoulder with a playful smirk, “She doesn’t like apple juice.”

“Genius.” 

Youngjae chuckles lightly and takes a swing of his beer. “You didn’t answer my question, how is Jinyoung?” He asks as he goes to the sofa and shuffles the heap of papers to one side. 

“Same old, same old.” Mark responds casually, leaning back against the island counter. 

Youngjae raises his eyebrows up above his glasses visibly from where he is now settled onto the sofa, articles and reports blanketing him at the lap. “You say ‘same old’ as if Jinyoung’s ‘old’ was any good. Any improvements?” 

Mark purses his lips in thought. He couldn’t really say there were improvements, but neither has things gotten worse. “Things have changed…?”

“For better or for worse?” He asks as he leans over his laptop, one hand sliding across the touchpad while the other had his can of beer held to his lips.

“I’m not sure. Things are a bit difficult.” 

“Too difficult to tell me or to explain? Two minds are better than one.” He suggests, now too focused on whatever was going across his screen. 

Mark sighs heavily and makes his way towards the coffee table where he digs out an empty space on the wooden floor and places himself down. His own can of beer in his hands unopened. “I wish I could, really. But I wouldn’t even know where to start.” 

“I get it,” Youngjae says, popping his face over his laptop. “As long as you’re both okay that’s all that matters. I mean aside from the suicide attempt, I actually thought Jinyoung was improving. He was starting to look a little relaxed, a little himself.”

“ _A little himself,_ ” Mark repeats to himself as a he cracks open his beer, quick to suck up the froth that bubbles up through the opening. “You ever wonder what people really are?” 

“What do you mean?” Youngjae asks, chugging down on the rest of his beer. He quickly gets up to grab the remaining four packs and settles it upon the coffee table, just above a stack of printed photographs. Mark eyes them casually, there were pictures of green landscapes, spruce trees upon mountains layered in snow, deserts that go on forever like the sea dried up. 

“Existence, people, the brain, souls?” He says absentmindedly. 

“Do you believe people have souls?” 

Mark looks up where Youngjae’s leaning back into his sofa, his second can of beer in his hand. “I don’t know really. Are people born with souls or is the brain a soul? When we die does everything just shut off?”

“I wonder about that too sometimes,” Youngjae says into his drink. “But the thing about pondering over things we’ll never be able to find out is that it can easily take you over. Like running through a maze that has no end. You’ll keep turning and twisting but there isn’t an exit, you won’t find your answer. So what’s the point in thinking about it?” 

“I suppose, although I can’t say that was very inspirational. Think of the scientists.” Mark pouts, taking his own meek sip. Revelling in the cold bitterness that glides down his throat.

“ _Think of the scientists,_ ” Youngjae barks out a laugh. “I like that one.” 

“Glad to see a smile, I feel like I’ve been living in mud I can’t get out these past few weeks.” Mark says, looking and feeling a little solemn.

“Things are a tough, huh?” 

“Well, you could say that. Nothing like looking after a student who’s losing his mind, me actually dying out of nowhere, reporters chasing me, oh and let’s not forget that earthquake.” He’s trying to go for a joke-y tone but it sounds a lot more like ranting, the words coming out of his mouth fast and a little too naturally. Mark’s come to realise that in hindsight, he may not be taking recent events as well as he’d thought. Change was natural, change was normal over a slow progession of time. But the changes he felt twisting around him was something far beyond rationality.

“Earthquake, that was strange.” Youngjae murmurs, the eyes behind his lenses now a little lost. He’s staring at his laptop screen but Mark knew that kind of look, the look he’d seen on Jinyoung, where something had completely taken over his mind. 

“Of course, but it’s not like Korea is a stranger to them.” Mark shrugs, tilting his head back to take the last drops of his beer before he crushes the can between his hand. 

“No, but the thing that’s strange was that there was no fore-warnings, nothing that indicated even the possibility of a tremor.” Youngjae contemplates mostly to himself, his finger circling the edge of his can. 

“I suppose, but they can happen out of nowhere too, can’t they?” Mark shrugs as he goes to reach for another beer. He picks up the pack and finds the pictures he was looking at earlier stick to the bottom of the can, lifting it, they reveal a second larger picture from below. It’s of a painting, a river gliding through the middle while a city of ashes borders its edges. 

Mark slowly takes the picture into his hand and settles the pack back where it was. “What’s this?” He asks as casually as he can. 

“What’s what?” Youngjae responds as he taps away furiously at his laptop.

Mark looks up at Youngjae and let’s out a shaky breath. “It’s a picture of a city burned to the ground.” 

“Ah, It’s probably of Turku. The capital of Finland, it burned down in the nineteenth century.” Youngjae replies casually, not taking his attention off the screen.

“Really? What happened?”

“A fire started at someone’s home, no one knows if it was arson or an accident but it destroyed like 75% of the city. The remaining surviving part is kind of like a museum now, it’s pretty amazing.” Youngjae explains as he rises off the sofa. “Want some snacks? I fell asleep the second I got home from work and haven’t eaten anything.”

“No, I’m good, thanks.” Mark mutters as Youngjae starts shuffling through cabinets. Mark looks back down at the picture in his hand and finds it is definitely the very same painting by Gustaf Wilhelm Finnberg, the one that was attached to the emails he received. 

“You sure? I’ve got like four packets of ramen I’ve managed to covertly hide from my mother too.” Youngjae laughs lightheartedly, his head deep into a cabinet just below the sink. 

Mark watches him as chucks two packets of ramen onto the counter and makes his way to the fridge. “ _Have you got egg to go with it?_ ” Mark asks in smooth Finnish.

“Hmmm, I’ve got egg, green onions, and sausage. Shall I put them all in?” Youngjae replies naturally.

There’s a flat moment of silence that rings so painfully throughout the apartment then. Youngjae’s frozen at the fridge and Mark’s stopped breathing. Then, ever so slowly, Youngjae quietly goes to shut the fridge door and takes his hand to rub at his neck. Mark feels like puking, or running, actually he feels like doing both but he’s turned to stone on the floor of Youngjae’s living room, watching him as he turns to look at Mark just over his shoulder.

“Ah...I slipped.” Youngjae says and then gives Mark the faintest of smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SCREAMS. so anti-climatic, i know. ples. i cry.


	16. the guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i listened to b1a4s a lie while writing this if you'd like to listen to something while reading this chapter~

“Can you not look so scared Mark? I’ve got a beer can in my hand not a knife.” Youngjae says, settled back into the space he’s made for himself on the sofa.

Mark’s still frozen on the floor, staring down at the crushed can of beer. There’s an odd combination of numb and fear that blooms in his veins and melds together in his blood. The only thing keeping Mark running is the questions sparking in his head.

“What- who are you?” He forces out between his teeth, the words come out strangled, the air caught in his throat. He’d thought about bolting out of the apartment for a moment but the incessant need for answers nailed him to the ground, and Barrick. Definitely Barrick, there was a kindling fire of anger bubbling away somewhere inside that didn’t belong to Mark.

“Choi Youngjae,” He replies back flatly while propping his can of beer onto the coffee table. He has a contemplative look on his face, like he evidently wasn’t prepared to be caught out at this particular moment and was working through the cogs on how to repair it. “Seriously, Mark, there’s no need to be so stiff. I don’t know what you know-”

“I know enough, I know more than I should probably,” Mark almost snaps but he sucks in the malice and wills himself to calm down. He isn’t entirely sure what he’s getting upset about particularly, the fact Youngjae was lying to him? Pretended to be someone he isn’t? “Nothing makes sense.”

“How much do you know then?” Youngjae asks, there’s a tone in his voice, like the slight prick of a needle biting into his words that Mark catches.

“Why should I tell you?” Mark retorts.

He sighs at that, and goes to take his glasses off slowly, settling them beside him gently upon the files beside him. “Does it matter much? I know more than you and Jinyoung combined, I’m sure you have questions.”

“What I want to understand is how this is even possible? Why is it you? You of all people?”

Youngjae half-smiles, the turn of his lips edged with a line of bitterness. “I’ve asked myself that a couple of hundred years, you know? Of all the billions of people in the world, why me?”

Mark’s taken back by that, unease swimming through his body. He didn’t understand how to react, he didn’t know how to look at Youngjae when he looked like _Youngjae_. The kind man that looked after him when he first moved to Seoul, the one who cared about others, cared about his students, someone that swallowed other people’s worries and made them his own. “Are you a lie?”

Youngjae looks at Mark directly, his eye’s open, wide open and Mark realises then the guise Youngjae had on for the past year, the veil upon him so delicate and thin it was almost translucent. Mark hadn’t seen him. “I am me, and I am all of them.”

Mark frowns at the response, “Don’t speak cryptic to me.”

Youngjae laughs shortly, “I don’t mean it, but it’s hard to be specific as well. My point is I have better control and understanding of my memories than Jinyoung per say.”

“So you know?”

“Of course I know.”

“So...you brought me all the way from America to here and put me next to Jinyoung for what exactly? For some twisted play in seeing us meet only to kill us in the end?” Mark’s angry, he doesn’t know if the feeling ebbed its way into him through Barrick but now it belongs to him, and he’s fully ready to inflict it.

“You make it sound like some shakespearean play…” Youngjae mutters under his breath and then takes a loud deep breath. “Honestly? When I requested for your transfer I wasn’t even completely sure it was you.”

“What?”

“The thing is, I only know who you are when I meet you face to face, and I don’t always meet you. But the world has progressed and finding people is much easier than it was back then, so I guess you were luck? Coincidence?” He says the words like they’re a game, or some time of secret joke. It makes Mark feel sick to his stomach.

“Then how did you-”

“My father was a parapsychologist, he followed a lot of Ian Stevenson’s work on reincarnation after I was born. You see I grew up speaking hundreds of languages and turned him into a fanatic. He started searching for more people like me, convinced he’d made a breakthrough, unfortunately he died way before he could publish anything on the matter. However about a year ago when my mother died, I was cleaning out their home and I found some of his reports, he’d investigated several children around the world. I saw your name...it seemed familiar, it’d nagged me for a while until I remembered your thesis on reincarnation. Of course, it was a wild guess, but you were the only one that my father had recorded as speaking a fluent language without the influence of anyone or anything. Also your thesis referred to an anonymous participant who recollected memories from Finland in the 19th century.” Youngjae explains, lying back into the sofa.

“You’re telling me all those tiny clues is what made you put the effort in asking for my transfer here?”

“I tried my luck, I wasn’t going to lose anything besides I was running out of options.” Youngjae huffs, he has his glasses back in his hands, rubbing away at the lenses with the bottom of his jumper.

“What do you mean?” Mark murmurs, the confusion spilling into his voice. If he thought he never understood anything before, he really never understood anything now.

“How much do you know Mark, really?” Youngjae asks in that same low tone, that soft tone that he’d keep for the two of them only when they were alone, when they were friends and not colleagues.

“Not much,” Mark replies in force. “I remember almost everything about a life in Finland.”

“Do you know who I am there?” Youngjae asks, but Mark can hear something in his voice, he can hear worry.

“No, I don’t. Barrick’s blocking things from me.”

“Blocking?” Youngjae frowns. “Well, you weren’t meant to remember anyway.”

“No, I wasn’t so what’s happened? What did you do?”

Youngjae raises his eyes up to Mark, a hard expression his face. “Things have changed, Mark. Things way out of my control.”

“So what’s in your control, or what was? How did this start?” Mark raises his voice, the anger slowly numbing him, and Barrick’s presence so strong like any second he was going to make Mark’s limbs his own. He wants to strangle Youngjae, to see the blood drain from his face, and he knows these feelings don’t initially belong to him, but somehow he doesn’t mind the thought of letting himself be taken over with them.

“How much does Jinyoung know now?”

“I’m not telling you anything more now, you can answer my questions.” He snaps, and Youngjae looks unphased. “Why did you bring me here? As far as I’m concerned I’m not meant to remember, I’m not in the middle of this infinite revenge plot you have going on.”

“You’re right, you’re not meant to be remember, but the thing is, Jinyoung is. And yet, he didn’t remember a single thing. In all our lives, he’s been the only one along side me, the only one that had experienced everything I had. But he forgot everything, he forgot on his own and nothing I could do would trigger them back. For a while I was convinced he wasn’t the same person I’d spend the past five hundred years with, but I saw them, I sense them. I’d run out of options, at most he could speak Arabic but there wasn’t anything more. You were my last option, and you worked.” He looks at Mark in wonder, like a miracle before his eyes in this twisted performance of death and revenge and it made Mark want to gag.

“What do you mean _I worked_?” Mark’s breathless, his heart thrumming in his chest.

“Didn’t you think it’s a bit strange?” Youngjae says, leaning forward in his seat. “That just a month after you arrived at the university, after he started taking your class, he started to change? Speaking and writing in different languages? His mood swings, his nightmares and his behaviour progressively getting worse and worse over the past few months? Nothing I did to him or tried to triggered him like your presence did.” Youngjae explains, sighing contently almost as if relieved with the result.

Mark sucks in a shaky breath, “It was me…? What did I do?”

“Well it’s not like you did something particularly,” Youngjae says as he gets up to his feet, Mark finds himself flinching away as he walks past him and into the kitchen, grabbing the apple juice carton and pouring himself a drink in the glass cup. “Your presence seemed to be enough to trigger it.”

“Trigger what?”

“The memories, Mark. His memories, the ghosts returned, not in the most cleanest way but I’m optimistic.” Youngjae says melodically and downs the cup of apple and vodka.

“Optimistic?” Mark echoes and now the anger has injected into his breath. “Optimistic? _He tried to kill himself twice, Youngjae._ ” Mark gets up to his feet then, his hands clenched by his side.

Youngjae looks at him from the shadows of the kitchen, he isn’t wearing his glasses so the usual light he’d see reflected in their lenses instead directly hit his dark eyes, and Mark cringes back to find nothing in them.

“There are far worse ways to die, Mark.” Youngjae says flatly, something heavy weighed on the words, crushing them.

“What did you accomplish then? What is all this?” Mark demands, gesturing to the files.

“I told you Mark, something’s changed. In you, Jinyoung...and me.” Youngjae’s eyes twitch together ever so slightly.

“Why? How is that possible? I don’t understand anything…” Mark rubs at his face furiously, frustration bursting in him. He wanted to throw things, rip them apart and burn them. He wanted to do them all to Youngjae.

“It would seem even demons have things they don’t wish to remember,” Youngjae murmurs, his eyes now lost, staring out past his windows into the nightscape of Seoul.

“Tell me one thing, Youngjae, did you- or whoever you were, did you start this? Start whatever this _curse_ is?”

Youngjae returns his look towards Mark and sighs, “No, I didn’t. Jinyoung did.”

 

 

*

Turku, _1827_

The carriage ride back to Turku was tedious and painful. Barrick had tried to distract himself with reading, drawing and sketches. But there was only so much he could do before the bumps in the carriage dove him in out of concentration, jagged his lines and blotted his pages. Eventually he could do nothing but give into this pit of darkness he’d been avoiding, dancing on the edges and playing with the idea of falling in.

He didn’t know how much days had passed with him descending, the darkness swallowing him up and eating at his insides. There’s nothing in this pit but the sound of his sister’s voice, twisted and disoriented, blaming him for leaving her, blaming him for avoiding her, blaming him for not being the brother he should have been.

Barrick wasn’t an illogical person, he realised there was nothing he could have done if it was intended for her to be taken so early in life. He knew, essentially, his presence would do nothing. But he couldn’t help it, the crushing guilt that sat on his chest, and broke into his ribs. He hoped, in some way, that maybe he’ll just die this way, in feelings so strong they’d rot his organs away and turn the marrow in his bones to dust. He wanted to disappear, to turn into nothing.

The first voice he hears in a long time that doesn’t belong to the demons in his head comes from the carriage man steering the horses. “ _Sir, we cannot go any further._ ”

Barrick blinks out of his daze and peers through the darkness of his carriage windows. Night had fell upon them and he’d assumed they were stopping to feed the horses and have a break. It’d usually be Barrick requesting for stops, knowing full well the carriage man would not stop his travels until other wise requested but Barrick hadn’t been hungry, nor had sleep visited him for the past couple of days, and the hours seemingly blended into one another.

“ _Are we taking a break?_ ” Barrick calls out to the front. “How far till we arrive in Turku?”

“ _No, sir, we have to stop our journey here. We cannot go any closer at risk,_ ” The carriage man shouts. The horses neigh and stomp in agitation, their hooves harsh against the gravel ground and Barrick can sense unease.

“ _What’s going on? What risk?_ ” Barrick asks, sliding closer to the door.

“ _Do you not see it sir?_ ”

“ _See what?_ ” Barrick says stepping, pushing open the carriage door and stepping out.

“ _The smoke._ ” He says as Barrick looks up and ahead of the carriage and the horses, towards the surrounding forest and just into the skyline where in the blanket of night it was almost easy to miss the engulfing black smoke that clouded the sky.

 

 

*

Seoul, _2016_

Mark returns home to silence. However, for the first time he’s returned to light. The hallway is illuminated in it’s ugly orange light in some sort of welcome. If it was any other day he’d smile to himself, he’d even say he’d wake up early to make Insook breakfast for once, only for it to completely backfire the next morning. But today it just makes the heavy sadness in him even more stark. He reaches out to the light on the wall beside him and flicks the switch off.

The darkness doesn’t help wash the feelings away but it eases him ever so slightly, just enough to find the will to make his way up the stairs and down the hallway. It’s already past midnight, and he’d assumed Insook and Jinyoung must have already gone to bed but in the darkness of the hallway he see’s Jinyoung’s door bordered with light.

Unease, relief, and hope all bubble inside him as he contemplates heading into the room. _Jinyoung, Jinyoung, Jinyoung._ His name had run through him the second he’d left Youngjae’s apartment, the disoriented ride home and now it pricks inside him like a thousand needles to the flesh. The sorry and the regret, the sick thoughts of guilt that grappled at his lungs and crushed at him became even more prominent now. _It’s my fault, it’s my fault._

If he’d never come, if he never accepted the carer position, if he’d done everything differently up until now maybe Jinyoung would have been okay. If he just stayed away from South Korea, from this university, Jinyoung would be fine. He’d be live his life in ignorant bliss, he’d continue to contemplate the inevitable future without looking into a past so far away and so close to hell, he’d be continuously be playing with life and death.

Mark takes the tip of his fingers and lets them glide delicately over the handle. He imagines unlocking the door and stepping in, wrapping Jinyoung in touches, and warmth, in hope of good dreams to come and comfort for the bad ones. But reality cuts through the image too quickly, how could he possibly comfort Jinyoung for the one thing he’d caused?

Maybe he really should have left, even if it was too late by then, he should have left the same day he decided he was going to. Maybe it would have settled the memories, maybe they would have stopped, maybe he’d forget everything-

“What are you thinking about while standing in front of my door?” Jinyoung’s voice is like cold air on a foggy morning. It makes Mark want to wrap him up in blankets and caress away the creases between his eyebrows.

“Of how to come in?” Mark responds.

“Well, you see, and watch closely now,” Jinyoung says with one finger pointed upwards. “You reach for the door knob and you turn it, when it makes that clicky sound, it’s open! Then you walk in.”

“Just like that?” Mark snorts.

“Just like that.” Jinyoung grins wide, eyes sparkling with amusement and maybe a tinge of happiness. The crippling guilt reappears and Mark tries his best not to crumble down in front of Jinyoung, anyone but Jinyoung. “Coming in?” He asks, and Mark can’t do anything but follow the trail of hope Jinyoung leaves as he steps back into his room and gives Mark space to choose.

Of course, Mark chooses to come in, shutting the door behind him quietly like he would shut a chest of secrets. He watches Jinyoung settle back into the dent he’s made in the bed, his laptop beside him upon the covers.

“What were you doing? I thought you’d be asleep?” Mark asks, carefully stepping round the end of the bed.

“I was surfing the internet, delved a bit deep and got a bit lost,” Jinyoung laughs lightly, scratching at the back of his head. His hair is slightly ruffled up at the sides, like he’d spent the last few hours scratching at his scalp in thought. Mark inhales slowly as he makes his way towards Jinyoung, sitting beside him at the edge of the bed where he takes a hand to his hair and tucks the strands back in place.

Jinyoung doesn’t flinch or move, he just watches Mark through his eyelashes. “This feels a little bit like a dream.” Jinyoung murmurs softly like velvet against the skin and Mark doesn’t make an effort to move his hand away from Jinyoung’s face even after he’s done with brushing away the disarray strands.

“A dream?” Mark repeats.

“I’d never thought, in a million years, we’d become any closer than a student and his professor. There was no chance, I was convinced. You…always looked at things as if there were a pane of glass before you, I thought it was impossible to get through it.” He murmurs, looking up at Mark with this expression of adoration that Mark wanted to swallow instantly, to drink it into his system and revel in the softness.

“You can still see through glass,” Mark whispers.

“But you can’t touch.” Jinyoung whispers back, taking his own hand to mirror Mark’s, where he glides his long fingers into the strands of Mark hair, gentle strokes like a painter with his brush, his fingers leaving trails of colour on Mark’s skin.

“There’s no glass now Jinyoung, you can touch me.” Mark’s pretty sure someone’s taken over him now because there’s no way the person he knows himself to be would say something like that. There’s no way the person he knows he is would give in to affection and wanting, to play around with the idea of temptation and budding feelings that tasted so much like over sweetened coffee and icing on a cake.

Yet, here he is, waiting for Jinyoung to make an inclination that he’d give into the words Mark seemed to set out like a trap. _He wants him to give in_. In the choked clogs in his head, Mark sets aside the guilt that’d been eating at him to give in to a feeling that seemed to only sprout along side Jinyoung, a feeling like unravelling a ribbon on a present.

For a long time, Jinyoung doesn’t move, maybe swimming in contradicting thoughts of his own. But eventually, a side wins over the other and Mark holds his breath as Jinyoung glides his hand down the edge of Mark’s jaw, his fingertips dancing on the very corner as if playing with the tip of a knife. His hands slide lower where they wrap around Mark’s neck and where for a brief moment, Mark thinks he might just suffocate him. _Maybe he knows what’s he’s done._ But his thumb moves slowly across his adam's-apple and follows it up and down as Mark swallows a hot breath.

There’s a curious look in Jinyoung’s eyes, his breath even as he stares at the skin he touches so lightly. He goes to grab the collar of Mark’s blazer and tugs a little bit for it to slide off Mark’s shoulders, the piece of clothing crumbling up onto the bed behind him. He’s wearing a plain t-shirt beneath, loose on his waist and lining his collar bones slightly where Jinyoung dips his fingers in. His thumb brushing the jagged bones that protrude tightly from beneath the skin.

Jinyoung pauses then, and Mark see’s the slight twitch in his face as he contemplates something. The interval doesn’t last long and then Mark finds Jinyoung pressing his palm against his chest, pushing him. At first Mark thought he’d wanted him to move _away_ from him but he quickly comes to realise that Jinyoung wants him to lie back. Sparks of nerves burst in the back of Mark’s head as he follows Jinyoung willingly, feeling a little vulnerable and exposed as he leans into the bed, his breath shortening and his eyes furiously blinking up at the ceiling above him.

Jinyoung also moves to lean over him, and he stares down at Mark in silent question, a very slight down turn of his lips. “Can I…?” He murmurs almost too quietly as he tugs at the hem of Mark’s shirt. Mark has no idea what he’s referring to but he nods anyway, his body running on automatic.

There’s a quiet moment in the room, nothing but the hum of the atmosphere around them. Mark’s swallowing down his heavy breaths, trying so hard not to let the heat that he’s drowning internally to show on the outside. He bites his lip as he feels Jinyoung bring a hand beneath his shirt, his hands are warm against his navel but the touch still has him sucking in a breath. Jinyoung watches his hand from beneath Mark’s shirt, almost seeing the pale skin beneath Mark’s clothes, seeing the way his thumb runs against the bone of his ribs, his palm pressed to his stomach.

“I wasn’t expecting it to be so smooth,” Jinyoung mutters absentmindedly.

Mark raises an eyebrow, “What did you expect? Chest hair?”

“Maybe?” Jinyoung smirks for a second but it quickly disappears the moment he brings his hand down to Mark’s waist. Mark holds his breath, his eyes shooting across the room as Jinyoung continues to lower his touch till it’s reaching a dangerous close to v-line that drags from between his hips and disappears beneath the band of his boxers.

Jinyoung quickly shrinks back then and goes to flop onto the bed beside Mark. “Shit, I’m sorry.” Jinyoung mutters and presses the heel of his hands to his eyes. He makes a squeaky sound and rolls to his side, giving Mark his back.

Mark, on the other hand, is still frozen in place, silently burning in the heat. He goes to clutch at the hem of shirt and drags as low as he can, his hand shaking ever so slightly. “What are you apologizing for?” Mark says, a tremble in his voice as he shuts his eyes tightly, composure a lost cause.

“I chickened out…” Jinyoung groans into his covers. “I’ve never touched a guy before, I’m sorry.”

“Are you confused?” Mark asks, insecurity a new found gem in the treasure chest of secrets he’s kept inside him.

“No, I’m _nervous_ , stupidly excited like I’m some stupid eight year old kid going home hand in hand with my crush.” Jinyoung moans, his hands clawed deep into the covers. “You’re another world to me, Professor. You’re new and different, and mysterious, and I’m me. All awkward and malfunctioning.”

“I feel like you’re talking about me,” Mark chuckles to himself. “You make me sound cool almost.”

“But you are.” Jinyoung swivels round to face Mark with those big eyes of his and Mark returns his expression with fondness. “You don’t know much your studies were used in our circulliam, you were someone so far away, you were a name, and then you were here.”

“I’m here,” Mark says and rolls on his side, curving his back so his head tucked a little close to Jinyoung’s. “I’m not far away, or behind a glass pane, I’m here.” He says softly, reaching out towards Jinyoung’s sprawled out a hand. He locks a finger with him, a light touch, and tugs at him.

“Like I said, it feels like a dream,” Jinyoung murmurs, staring down at their hands. “But I’m glad it’s not. I’ve been stuck in my own head for too long.” His eyes flutter, and his breathing grows more shallow.

“How are the memories?” Mark asks caressing a thumb to the finger he has interlocked.

“Awful,” Jinyoung replies quietly. “I keep seeing shadows, and a bird falling from the sky, but I don’t know what it means or what it is.”

“Is that what you been up searching about all night?” Mark asks.

“Mmmm…” Jinyoung hums, his eyes now shut. “It was keeping me up but now that I’ve seen you, I feel like I can almost...relax.” He says, his face half smothered into the covers below the two of them. Mark stares at him, takes in the curve of his eyelashes, the dip in his nose and lines of his lips.

“I’m sorry,” Mark whispers the words unheard. Jinyoung asleep, his finger now tightened around Mark’s. There’s a lot of things that run through Mark’s head; if he should leave? How could he protect Jinyoung? What did Youngjae mean? Was he telling the truth to begin with?

It’d seem the more Mark tried to unravel the mysteries surrounding the two of them, the more questions that arose. He’s realised however that no matter what happens, no matter what he finds out, he has to protect Jinyoung. No matter the cost.

 

 

*

Turku, _1827_

Turku had drowned in a fire that lasted all night. Barrick arrived to the northern border of the city, an area in the forest the fire hadn’t touched, but he had seen from a distance that the fire had jumped the Aura river where the Turku Cathedral and the Imperial Building of Turku had succumb to the flames.

He’d tried to make his way through the crowds of people seeking protection, and the officers barricading the roads. They needed extinguishers, the people had said a lot of the city folks had left to Tampere for a market so they were low on manpower. But there was no safe entrance into the city from where Barrick had come from, the fire completely consuming the entire northern eastern part.

He’d never seen fire like it before, flames so large and high it was as if a part of the sun itself had landed upon the earth. _Hell has risen,_ he’d heard someone say, a mother of two children nestled between her legs beneath a thin blanket. It is then with blinding fear he remembered Hanna and the twins, as far as he was concerned, his home and area of the city was already burnt to a cinder.

This area was the closest safe spot for people in the eastern part of Turku so he’d spent the next few hours searching for them among the crowds. Calling out their names hoping for at least one of the twins to hear him, for anyone to tell him if they’d seen them. But they weren’t in sight, and no one had any news of them. Panic started to overcome him, the image of his sister’s grave flashing before his eyes and he’d spent a good half hour vomiting out nothing but saliva behind a tree trunk.

His next course of actions was to _get in_ , find a way round the forest and into the city where he could at least help put the fire out and search for Hanna. Once he’d find them and made sure they were safe, he’d check on Henrikka, who he was sure would be safe anyway, her asylum was far out of the cities reach.

Evidently, it was easier said than done. One of the officials had seen him make a move to the forest where he could bypass their barricades and quickly caught up to him, cuffing him up and placing him between their watch. “ _You’ll just burn to death, Mr Nieminen. Stay put._ ”

“ _I’d rather burn to death then stay here and do nothing, let me go. No one will hold you responsible._ ” Barrick demands, his voice high and powerful and the official almost wavered.

“ _You can’t do that Mr Nieminen,_ ” A woman from behind him says, he finds it to be one of the ladies from his neighbourhood, an old woman who runs the bakery at the markets. “ _Who will help build our city after it all burns down?_ ”

“ _All burns down?_ ” Barrick repeated the words with dread churning in his stomach. He looks back up over the tips of the trees, where the black smoke has clogged the sky in an overbearing darkness filled with ash.

_The whole city is burning down._

By the time the officials has claimed it to be safe to reenter the city, it was past noon the next day. The people soon returned to Turku where they were to be greeted with their homes having turned into nothing but black and dust, ashes for their beds and roofs crumbled to the ground.

Barrick had returned to his home to find it had caved in on itself, he could almost see how it might have come down. First the legs, then the head. The house must have first crumbled down before it was rendered to ashes. He stares nervously at the next house, Hanna’s house that must have come down in the same fashion. Men were currently going through the rubble, and somewhere in the back of Barrick’s mind he knows he needs to help them, to put his weight into helping the community but his feet were stoned to the ground.

“ _Barrick?_ ” A rough, ragged voice comes from behind him, followed by the heavy tap of a hand to his shoulder. Barrick looks over to find Iisakki Nurmi by his side, his face covered in soot, exhaustion weighing in his eyes.

“ _Iisakki!_ ” Barrick almost laughed with the relief that bursted in him at the sight of Hanna’s husband altogether in one condition. “ _Oh thank god you’re okay._ ” He brings the man into a tight embrace.

“ _I’m glad you’re okay my friend,_ ” Iisakki says tiredly into his embrace. “ _It seems you managed to avoid the fire with your travels._ ”

“ _Yes, but how are the twins? Hanna?_ ” Barrick urgently asked, pulling back from the man.

“ _They are fine, they’d gone to market with Hanna’s mother._ ” Iisakki informed him, smiling a little behind the ash the clung to his skin.

Barrick crumbled to his knees, his hands still to Iisakki’s wrist. “ _Thank god, thank god. Everyone is okay._ ” Iisakki bent to his knees to meet Barrick’s eyes at the same level, two hands to his cheeks to lift his face up.

“ _Barrick, I feared the worst for you, my man,_ ” Iisakki said.

“ _What do you mean? You knew I was out of town._ ” Barrick replied.

“ _Yes but...when the fire went out earlier this morning, I’d taken some men here first. The fire had started further up the hill so most of the casualties would have been in this area. We found a body, I thought it was you, my friend. I had truly feared the worst._ ” Iisakki trembled a little as he said the words.

“ _Why would you assume it’s me?_ ”

Iisakki looked him in the eye, worry plaguing his expression. “ _We found a body under the rubbles of your house._ ”

“ _What?_ ” Barrick sucked in a shaky breath. “ _In my house, you’re sure?_ ”

“ _Yes, but I’d quickly went to check the body. It was a woman._ ” Iisakki says. “ _Were you meeting someone Barrick? Or given someone a key, possibly a family member? Do you know who it might be?_ ”

Barrick toppled back onto the ground. Everything suddenly became muted, he could see Iisakki’s mouth moving but he couldn’t hear the words coming out of them. “ _No, no, no, no, no._ ” Barrick tried thinking the words but his cries somehow made their way out, his voice breaking. “ _Please, please, tell me it’s not her. Please god._ ” Barrick crawled back, away from Iisakki, his eyes roaming around the rubble reduced city around him.

Everything was blackened and charred, the river clogged with ashes, and the day sky hidden in a constant twilight behind clouds of smoke. There is a pit of darkness Barrick has fallen in, and he knows this time the descent will last forever.

 

 

*

Seoul, _2016_

Mark wakes up crying, tears spilling down his eyes and whimpers escaping through trembling lips. He bit down on the feeling to scream, to melt his sorrow into the pillow and drown in the grief that fills his lungs.

_Why? Why did you show me this?_

_You said you wanted to know, Mark. I showed you what he does, what he’s done._

_No, no, this isn’t what I wanted to know._

_You know now why it’s my fault? I’d given her a key to my home and I told her to wait for when I were to return. I’d left her crying, I wanted to reassure her, but I ended up killing her._

_Barrick-_

_She would have been safe in the asylum. She would have lived. She was meant to live. But it was his fault as much as it was my fault._

_Who? The fire...it was an accident Barrick, you could never have known._

_No it wasn’t an accident. Only I know who it was, who is capable of it. You know too. You know where the fire started._

_Further up the hill…is a mansion._

_Carl’s family mansion. He started the fire._

Mark sits up straight from his bed, his vision a blur but he see’s the light through his window. A blue ghost of sunlight piercing through the window panes. Mark looks down at his hands, through the tears, he see’s fingertips dipped in grey.

_Youngjae is Carl? He started the fire._

_He killed Henrikka._

Mark clutches his stomach and heaves, an empty attempt in vomiting. Cold sweet forms at his temples and plasters his hair to his skin and there’s a tremble in his hand he can’t tell is from his own nauseation or Barrick’s anger.

_Barrick, I can’t breathe._

_I’ll kill him Mark. I’ll kill him. You’re the first one to remember me, it took so much for me to break through, and now I finally have the chance, I’ll burn him down like he did to Henrikka._

“ _Barrick_ ,” Mark gasps out loud, clutching at his chest. _What are you talking about? How can you break through? You’re just memories._

_We’re ghosts, Mark. Souls. That’s the curse that’s fallen upon us. We’re souls attached to each other with wisps of strings, and while you are cursed to forget us, and forget Jinyoung, Jinyoung is cursed to remember everything. We are never meant to rest, we are meant to suffer for eternity._

“ _Barrick, please._ ” Mark’s not sure why he’s begging, he feels like something heavy is crushing down on him, his ribs pressing into his lung, his insides threatening to implode.

_We’re alive, Mark. We may not have bodies, but we’re alive._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dnt rlly know what im doing anymore SCREAMS
> 
> also a lil note updates will be slow in december, im busy for the first three weeks but hopefully it won't be too bad. thats why i wanted to post at least one more time before the new month. hope you all have a merry christmas or a happy holidays! stay warm!!! or cool, if ur like in australia rip
> 
> p.s: i know this is all confusing, my lack of planning is showing so i highly rec u guys juST STOP READING TILL ITS FINISHED. IM SO SORRY


	17. falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> listened to stay with me by punch and chanyeol, its an ost for a drama called goblin. i highly recommend it, i love it so far!
> 
> also a reminder, most of these chapters are unbeta'd so im sorry for any mistakes, i shall be going over but as im busy this month i wont be able to be as thorough.

Mark explodes into Jinyoung’s room, the door swinging so hard it slams back into the wall.

“Jinyoung!” Mark barks out into the room.

Jinyoung literally jumps so hard he topples off the bed, landing into a broken mess on the carpet floor. “ _What- what, has the cavalry arrived!?_ ” Jinyoung groggily mutters in English, poking his head up into the air.

“Jinyoung, Jinyoung,” Mark stomps his way to Jinyoung and drops to his knees to meet him all half-asleep and perky in his delusional state. “They’re alive.”

“What? We’re alive? That’s awful.” Jinyoung mutters, blinking hard.

“No, they’re-they’re not memories, Jinyoung,” Mark takes in a deep breath, his hands jumping erratically before him. “They’re like...ghosts. Actual ghost, like entities...like the idea of your soul departing your body when you die.”

Jinyoung squints at Mark now, his eyes mildly swollen and his breath shallow. He gives his temples a soft rub and goes to look at Mark one more time. “I’m sorry, my heart's like slamming in my ears right now, what are you talking about professor?”

Mark places two firm hands onto Jinyoung shoulders and inhales loudly, “We’re not reincarnations, we’re haunted.”

“Sounds like a poem,” Jinyoung retorts, his concentration too far lost.

“Jinyoung, are you listening?” Mark exasperates.

“I’m listening, professor,” Jinyoung says lowly. “I’m just not understanding, can you explain a little bit?”

“I think I get whatever this curse is just a little bit. In some sense we’re reincarnations but not the type where we’re just born with our past memories. Let’s say for instance when we die our soul departs our body, and said soul therefore, I don’t know, descends into hell or ascends to heaven. They move on, find peace, find...torture and hell-fire? I don’t know. Some go limbo. That’s not how it is for our past lives though, they didn’t get to ascend or move on, they got tied to the next soul born. They don’t get to rest, they don’t get an after-life, they’re forced to continue living forever through other people.” Mark explains, and it comes out so complicated and messy out loud but he’s staring into Jinyoung’s eyes hoping he’d at least understood something.

“So we’re being haunted? And when we die we won’t get to move on to the afterlife but be grounded here?” Jinyoung says slowly, leaning up against the side of the bed for support. “So what is this about you forgetting and me remembering?”

“It’s a form of torture for you, I think.” Mark crosses his legs over, and looks down at the dull carpet. “You did something and this is an act of revenge. We were maybe attached to one another, and so as punishment you always remember me and I don’t remember you. But the curse is the same, our past-lives ghosts are attached to us.”

“So they’re alive in the sense that they’re actual souls, minds per se without physical matter.” Jinyoung nods slowly. “How did you come up with this?”

“Barrick, and…” _Youngjae_. “He said he’d been trying to break through, since he died he’d been trying to get through his reincarnations, to talk to them but up until me no one could hear him, until they died of course.”

“What? How can you break through a curse? Why? What is going?” Jinyoung sighs heavily into his palms.

“He wants revenge Jinyoung, for Henrikka’s death, he’s been wanting revenge for 200 years now. It was Carl, you know the other person, back then in Finland it was Carl-”

“I know,” Jinyoung interjects. “I knew it was Carl.”

Mark’s eyebrows stitch together, “Henrikka knew?”

“Yes, but...she didn’t want to tell Barrick. He was your friend back then, and she knew what kind of presence he was in your life. She hated him but at most she was jealous,” Jinyoung chuckles, the shadows below his eyes disappearing ever so slightly into the folds of his smile. “But I don’t know who they are in this life. Things are pretty complicated.”

“Yeah, they are,” Mark murmurs, sighing quietly.

He’d thought about telling Jinyoung that the person they’d been looking for is Youngjae, but he still didn’t know what kind of danger Youngjae posed. He said he wasn’t going to hurt him but how could he trust someone that burned an entire city down for one person? Youngjae may not have any motives to harm the two of them but if Barrick taught Mark anything now it is the fact that sometimes your intentions don’t always belong to you. He isn’t going to put Jinyoung in front of a danger like that.

“Have you been thinking about this all night?” Jinyoung asks softly, bringing his hand to the base of Mark’s neck, where his thumb gently strokes the skin beneath Mark’s jaw.

Mark sighs and leans into his hand, “No, but I think Barrick’s trying to take control now.”

“What?”

“He wants to kill him, kill Carl, whoever he is now,” Mark sighs. “And he knows I won’t do it, I think he’s really trying to take over me. I woke up with this crushing feeling this morning, I couldn’t breathe and it was like something was weighing down on me.”

“What triggered this? How is that even possible?” Worry is clear in his voice, his hands now wrapped around the back of Mark’s neck protectively .

“I don’t know,” Mark lies. “But I have an extensive amount of experience in blocking him out, so I just need to talk him out of it while I can.”

“If you ever...need help, I don’t know, just come to me, okay?” Jinyoung asks, leaning closer to Mark.

“I will, thank you.” Mark replies, taking a comforting hand to the top of his head. He pats his hair down softly and smiles to himself. Jinyoung takes a hand up to Mark’s and holds it down on his scalp, he closes his eyes and hums as if recharging.

After a couple of seconds he opens his eyes and exhales a deep breath, “Okay, I think I got it. I need to remember everything from the beginning to the end, that’s the only way we can get answers I think.”

“You don’t have to do that. I don’t want you to force yourself into doing anything. These memories, Jinyoung, you don’t have to remember them, you don’t need them.” Mark says almost like a beg. His heart ached, for this boy full of trapped mischief and generous smiles, for a man that had so much wonder and care in him. He doesn’t deserve this.

Jinyoung looks at Mark like he can almost hear his thoughts. A wistful smile smile spreads on his face as he takes his own hand down to hold Mark’s. “Professor, I haven’t had much direction all my life. Nor did I think it’d be possible to feel so much. If you’d ask me whether I’d choose to forget all this and redo then I’d tell you no. I want to remember, maybe not so painfully and so out of control, but I’ve seen things, so many beautiful places, so many wonderful people. I’ve felt pain, yes, and fear, but I’ve seen life in ways no one could ever see before.” His eyes sparkle as he speaks, he swallows down hard and blinks to hide his tear-lined eyes.

“I understand,” Mark breathes, knotting his fingers in between Jinyoung’s. He closes his eyes briefly, and see’s tiled roofs blanketed in snow, spruce trees shivering in winter cold, and smoke dancing from chimney tops. “I understand.”

 

 

*

 

_There is a house. A house made of wood and fimble stone. A once empty house that had found a companion in a small boy. This boy was alone and afraid, but he was never lost. This house was built out of whim, it was owned with carelessness but once this boy had entered through it’s rackety door, it had transformed. A metamorphosis of some sort, and this house had become a home._

 

_This home burned down, and with it a soul, among many souls._

 

_She had slept in anticipating peace upon the rough sofa of the lounge, tightly knitted to the kitchen where she had previously made herself a cup of tea. A metal cup, rusted at the handle, and worn down from excessive use, had sat on the counter. It peered through the window where the first signs of smoke had come from. This cup had seen everything; the Aura river at night, the boy’s tears made of secrets, the woman’s eagerness of a love sewn into time itself, and it had seen the forthcoming end._

 

_The leg’s had been gnawed at first, and like a head with no neck to carry it, the roof had fallen upon her. She’d been crushed; nimble bones and tender flesh. We are such weak things, are we not?_

 

_The fire had done the rest. Flames licking up at the wood with a hunger not even hell could satisfy. Skin cooked, and burned, and swept into the marrows of her bones until she was nothing but a corpse made up of ash and charred bones._

 

_Henrikka. Henrikka. Henrikka._

 

Barrick was never one to be emotional. He was a boy with too much of a goal to stay young forever. A boy plagued with responsibility, and maturity. He’d become an adult, and adults don’t have emotions.

He left his parents, and he did not cry. His sister had died, and he did not cry. His other-half had burned, and he did not cry.

That is, not straight away because the thing about emotions is that the more you pretend they do not exist, the more they wish to be heard. Like a mountain of stones piling up bit by bit, with no strong foundation, the mountain will fall. Barrick fell.

He’d wanted to see her, he’d wanted to see those eyes that sparkled like she held the world within them, the same eyes that’d drain like a dam and look as if they were staring into the pit of a black hole.

“ _Henrikka_ ,” He whispered upon the white cloth that covered what remained of her. His hands shaking, and his breath hot. “ _I’m sorry._ ”

He’d been warned not to remove the cloth. The whiteness of it so bright and pure, a blanket to cover the horror beneath it. He’d see it, he’d see what he’d done and he’d regret for the rest of his life.

To which he did, but it had not come without the first spill of tears.

 

 

*

There’s nothing more anxiety inducing than the knock of a door, or the ring of a bell. They are sounds that come with the crippling thought that something bad is about to happen. As bad things can happen, out of nowhere, or expectantly. It is however the waiting, the feeling of what seems to go on forever of the unknown. What’s on the other side of the door? Who is calling? What change will it bring?

It’s maybe why Mark’s always avoiding phone calls. Why the site of private numbers makes him cringe back. Why he tends to keep his doors open. It is also why he is reluctant to call others, to be the bearer of news, to knock on closed doors. In some sense, he see’s it as an intrusion.

Today, however, when he stands before Youngjae’s office. He doesn’t think about these things, he doesn’t think about the person on the other side of the door, he doesn’t think about what change will come in the next few moments. Anxiety is but a flutter of a wing in the back of his head, and for one, one breathless moment as he turns the doorknob and barges into the office, Mark thinks of Jinyoung.

Youngjae looks up from where he is, perched by the window. The sun is bright outside and it drowns Youngjae into nothing but shadows. Mark squints, blinded, nothing but the outline of Youngjae’s head turning indicating he wasn’t just a ghost to Mark’s eyes.

“You didn’t knock?” Youngjae says.

“I knew no one was inside,” Mark replies flatly and shuts the door behind him.

“So what brings you here then?” Youngjae asks, pushing himself up from the windowsill and out of the light, where the shadows return his features. He looks a little different today, his glasses gone, and his hair parted to the side compared to it’s usual natural, messy look. “The way you left my place the other night made it seem like you already bought a one way ticket out of this country.”

“I told you I wasn’t running,” Mark retorts.

“And I would have believed you in any other life,” Youngjae says as he makes his way to his desk. He puts a hand to the back of his leather seat and tilts his head to the side in thought. “But I don’t really know you in this one.”

Mark’s face twitches, his lip quirking down ever so slightly. “Are you saying our relationship up until before was a lie?”

“No…” Youngjae trails off, looking for the words. “You are different.”

“What?”

Youngjae sighs heavily and pulls out his chair, lowering himself into it slowly. He pauses to look at the seats across his desk and looks as if he were to offer Mark one, but he doesn't, maybe knowing Mark would reject it.

“Maybe it’s because you remember but I just couldn’t figure you out Mark. Who are you without Barrick’s memory?” Youngjae asks casually, the question as a light as a feather on his tongue but one that quickly shifts into a beast, stampeding it’s way into Mark.

“I didn’t come here to talk about myself,” Mark half-snaps, taking in a quiet breath. “I came for answers.”

“What makes you think I’d give them?” He taunts but there’s no amusement in his face.

Mark’s eyebrows stitch together, “I don’t see him.”

“See who?”

“Carl.”

Youngjae half-smiles, a faint turn of his lip. “Why would you? I’ve had nearly five hundreds years of practice, of separating myself from the rest of them. Jinyoung could do it just as well too, till, well, this life happened.”

“People keep saying that.” Mark huffs. “Saying something’s changed, that this life has changed. Tell me, what happened.”

Youngjae’s face drops. “Who told you...what?”

“Henrikka, Barrick...the fact I remember, the fact Jinyoung doesn’t remember. There’s a curse and it’s been broken.”

“A curse that’s been broken would suggest there’s no longer a curse,” Youngjae corrects, turning slightly in his seat, looking out towards the window. “This curse has simply...derailed?”

“Derailed?” Mark repeats.”And do you know what caused it?”

“Unfortunately for me...I know everything,” Youngjae mutters this, and Mark can’t see the face he’s making as he says this, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “So forgive me if I ask you to be a bit specific with your questions?” He says, looking over his shoulder. He carves on a small smile and Mark can feel it’s edges cutting into the air.

“I don’t care about the beginning or the end, or anything,” Mark states, taking a step closer to Youngjae. “I just want to know how I can make Jinyoung...better. How I can make this stop.”

Youngjae scoffs then, it’s light like he’s laughing but it comes out all broken. “I’ve spent nearly three years trying to get him to remember, and you’re asking me to help him forget? To make him better?”

“What will it take? For it stop? For you to stop?” Mark demands and it almost sounds like a beg. He’d come here with conviction, and courage cultivated out of nothing, and yet he could feel it all quickly crumble between his fingers.

“The thing is, Mark, you need to know the beginning to know why this started, and the end to know why it changed. And when you do know, the things won’t be as simple as asking me to stop because you will realise that I don’t have as much power in this as you may think.” Youngjae says as he gets up from his seat and makes his way round his desk.

“Then tell me,” Mark hisses through his teeth. He could feel Barrick stirring inside, a dormant anger bubbling through the surface and if Mark couldn’t control himself, he definitely couldn’t control Barrick.

Youngjae takes him in with a calculative stare. “Tell you what? The first life? The second? The third? The twenty fifth? The last?”

Mark grimaces, “You talk like him, but you don’t act like him.”

“Like Carl?” Youngjae guesses. “He is so...loud...and playful. There’s only so many years one person can be so...haughty. I can see Barrick’s ticking away there though, is he trying to find something, Mark?”

Mark sucks in a breath. “I haven’t been asking the questions?”

“No, you have…” Youngjae mutters. “But he’s slipping through...you’re focusing on Jinyoung but he’s trying to divert your attention to Carl.” Youngjae steps closer to Mark, his movements without real direction.

Mark jerks on instinct, his fists balled up and his body stiff, as if ready to fight. “Barrick,” Mark mumbles under his breath. Youngjae brings a hand to Mark’s face, his palm cold against his cheeks and his fingers tracing the skin of his temple. Mark cringes, ready to shrink away from his touch but he wills himself to stay there. “What are you doing?”

“Barrick…” Youngjae says the name with years of nostalgia mixed into his breath, and Mark feels sick at the taste of it. “How is it that in the end he was no different to all the others?”

“What do you mean?” Mark asks, his voice thick in struggle, his eyes sharp as he stares into Youngjae’s eyes.

“People so easily succumb to two things, Mark.” Youngjae says, dropping his hand. “Revenge and regret. I’d thought Barrick was different, or at least Carl did.”

“He burned a whole town, he killed the person he loved, he was his best friend, of course he’d feel like this!” Mark snaps, a threat stirring up in the veins that protruded in his neck. Agitation and anger stitching it’s way through his blood, Barrick pumping his way through his body.

Youngjae coughs into his hand and turns on his heels lightly, “If only you knew the irony.”

Now _that_ irritates Mark personally. “Then why don’t you tell me? Or was your plan to string me along, playing mind games, and laughing at personal jokes until I actually let Barrick out just to kill you?”

Youngjae looks over his shoulder with a flaccid look, “Barrick should know by now that killing me is virtually pointless, I’m not entirely sure what his revenge plot is when we’re pretty much stuck together for eternity?”

“I don’t know...maybe making your death as painful and long as possible?” Mark suggests with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Then I’ll be the one in pain, not Carl, and if you think that’s going to give him any emotional distress then you clearly don’t remember the detached bastard he was.” Youngjae remarks in monotone, leaning back into the corner of his desk.

Mark bites his lip, frustration so suffocating now, he couldn’t even think of the words to retort. Youngjae notices this, and instead of a triumphant smirk, something maybe Carl would have offered, he simply sighs deeply.

“He didn’t do it, you know?” Youngjae says, his voice low.

“Do what?”

Youngjae opens his mouth to respond but his jaw just hangs, a thought suddenly coming to a halt and then he slams his mouth shut. “Nevermind.”

“ _Youngjae_ ,” Mark hisses, now completely at a loss at who this anger belongs to.

Youngjae brushes a hand through his hair, the side parting lost to the messiness he equipped so naturally before. “What is it, exactly, you want to know Mark? And before you start begging me on how to break the curse, I can already tell you I don’t know the answer.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mark exasperates.

“Did you think I was speaking in riddles or poems when I mentioned demons, Mark?” Youngjae retorts harshly, a snap almost. His eyes shiver as he looks at Mark, a buried emotion of his own working through the cogs of his mind.

“What do you mean demons? You can’t be serious-”

“Resurrection, past lives, ghosts, curses - by now, you should know this world isn’t what it’s made out to be, don’t you Mark? Demons for a better lack of the word. Things way beyond what humans think is reality. More than meets the eye and all that...crap.” Youngjae huffs and gets back up onto his feet. His face has taken on a new tired expression, as if suddenly the past five hundreds years could be seen in this lines of his skin.

“But demons, Youngjae? The one’s that sprout from hell?” Mark exhales in disbelief, finding even the will to stand on his own two feet difficult.

“Hell? Who knows? Maybe they’ve always been on this planet, or maybe this is hell?” He laughs hollowly.

“And what? They caused this? All this? They made a game out of all this?”

“No...they’re essentially what has tied our souls to one another.” Youngjae starts, moving again to return to his seat. “Sit down, this is a bit of an explanation. One I’ve never done before.”

Mark stays where he is.

“Well, whatever suits you.” Youngjae shrugs. “You’ve heard of Jinn’s right?”

“Jinn’s? As in the spirits? From Arabian mythology?” Mark replies.

“Essentially yes, they’re said to be of a shapeless creation that could take the form of human or animal. They weren’t particularly good or evil, just like us, they had free will and thought. But unlike us, they had power. Immense power.” Youngjae intertwined his fingers together, his elbows perched on the chair hands either side of him. His eyes a little vacant, the kind of lost Jinyoung get’s when he’s remembering but not entirely lost. “We had lived among them once, a long time ago.”

“Demons?”

“They’re not exactly the kind of demons you’re thinking about, Mark, with pointed tails and horns, or saliva made of black toxins.” Youngjae says with a roll of his eyes. “The world wasn’t always like this, Mark. The world has changed. Species have come and gone. We weren’t always here before, people, and we won’t be here forever either. They feared that, they saw it coming.”

“The...spirits?” Mark mutters weakly, now regretting a little bit on refusing the seat.

“They saw their future, they saw the worlds we were going to build, they saw the metals, and the buildings, and they saw they would not be able to live in it. So they started making deals, an exchange of wishes.” Youngjae explains, his tone growing deeper and his words coming out heavier.

“What could a demon possibly wish for from a human?” Mark exasperates.

Youngjae flicks his eyes up to Mark like he’d just remembered he was standing in his office. “The chance of eternity.” He whispers. “They wanted to live, Mark. They knew humans had souls, that once one would die, they would forget in order for another to be born, a cycle that goes on forever. They didn’t have that. So while they could they started doing the bidding of humans, in exchange, they’d live forever through their reincarnations.”

“And that’s what you did…? To make us suffer, you gave your soul up to a demon. You remember five hundred years of life just for revenge?” Mark asks accusingly, distress evident in the way his body shook. In fear? In anger? Was the feelings surging through him his own, or Barrick’s? He couldn’t tell anymore, and that fact was beginning to scare him.

“ _Just for revenge,_ ” Youngjae bitterly mutters. “You don’t remember so I highly doubt you don’t say things so easily, Mark.”

“And who’s fault is it that I don’t remember!?” Mark snaps back.

Youngjae slams up to his feet, banging his hands to the desk. “You should be thanking me, Mark. That you never remembered was probably the only blessing I could give you after what happened.” He huffs, his breath ragged and his hair now looking more distraught than it did natural.

“W-what’s that supposed to mean?” Mark quickly crumbles down to his knees, his fingers clawed into his hair. “I don’t understand anything.”

Youngjae stares down at him, his own breathing heavy as he tried to calm himself down. “You can’t expect to understand five hundred years of a curse just like that. Jinyoung should be remembering everything soon too.”

Mark looks up from between his hands to where Youngjae stands, the sunlight behind him blinding. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“When you died...did you think it was a coincidence that at the very same time Jinyoung suddenly had access to about 90% of his memories?” Youngjae says, slowly settling back down into his feet. “I knew Jinyoung’s memories were coming back to him, broken as they may. But the process was becoming messy...at the rate he was going at the stress would kill him before he remembered everything, and if I didn’t solve this in this life, god knows what I’d meet in the next.”

Mark slowly rises to his feet, his body shaking now with what he is sure is a fire of emotions that solely belongs to him.

“I opened the vault, a vault with many keys and locks, a vault hiding a demon of his own. A demon that does not want to remember anything anymore.” Youngjae takes in a breath and relaxes back into his desk. “But you see anything that happens to Jinyoung, happens to you Mark. You’re connected by the same spirit. So just as I unlocked Jinyoung’s memories, I seemed to have unlocked something in you.”

“You killed me?” Mark takes a step back.

“Not on purpose,” Youngjae clears up quickly with his palms up defensively, as if it would solve everything. He then looks down at his fingers, peering into his palm curiously. “It was the first time I used it’s powers, you see our deal still remains intact even after all these years, and I had to make sure Jinyoung remembered. I understood that meant tampering with you indirectly but I’d assumed you already remembered what you could and this wouldn’t change much...it would seem however Barrick’s stronger than we both think.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Barrick’s getting stronger, I can sense it. If he keeps this up he may really be able to take you over and extract his revenge,” Youngjae says, as if he found amusement in the whole matter. “However that also means that Jinyoung’s memories are solidifying. His demons waking up.”

“What put it to sleep in the first place?”

Youngjae licks his lips and gives his jaw a hard rub, “Now that’s something not even I want to think about. And thank god…” Youngjae huffs, looking down at the clock upon his desk. “I have a lecture, and you are ten minutes late to yours.”

Mark jumps and quickly goes to look at his wristwatch, “ _Shit._ ”

“I’m sure you have more questions but let’s leave them for another day, hm?” Youngjae says casually as if inviting an old friend for tea. “I enjoy these conversations of ours, I feel like I may actually be making a real friend out of you after so many hundreds of years.” Youngjae says whimsically as he goes to grab his briefcase from beside him on the ground and get’s up to his feet.

Mark wants to retort with something harsh but an entirely new thought rams its way into his stream of thought, and just as Youngjae moves past him and heads towards his door, Mark calls out to him. “Youngjae…”

“Hm?”

Mark doesn’t look over his shoulder as he speaks, maybe in some fear to see the words before he heard them. “Is it possible for us...or for you and Jinyoung to cause something like...an earthquake?”

The question warrants silence, and silence is what Mark gets. It goes on for so long Mark moves rigidly to look over his shoulder, checking Youngjae hadn’t already walked out of the office. Instead, he see’s something far worse than a vacant door frame, he see’s a look of worry, a look of the unknown shroud Youngjae’s face.

“Us? Make an earthquake?” He repeats, a little breathless like he wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness but couldn’t find the will. “No, we can’t. But...can a demon? I don’t know.”

 

 

*

When Mark enters the kitchen the next morning, he finds Jinyoung already there. He has himself perched upon the kitchen counter, an untouched apple in his hand, and his attention far away. He hasn’t noticed Mark’s presence yet, and so Mark takes advantage of it and leans silently into the door frame of the hallway.

The dark shadows below Jinyoung’s eyes aren’t so bad today, just the lines of the hollow of his eyes slightly more defined. In the bright light that swims in through the garden doors, Mark can even see the faint scars of popped pimples, skin slightly embedded in like small craters against the landscape of his skin. Skin so white and smooth, tight against his jaw and soft at the nape of his neck.

Mark swallows down and takes a step into the kitchen now, his footsteps light and soundless, as if he were waking upon the rays of sunlight as he gravitated towards Jinyoung. Jinyoung doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch, and Mark thinks he may be remembering but he see’s his eyes, drinking in the sunshine. “Jinyoung?” Mark whispers as he takes a hesitated hand to Jinyoung’s, where he tugs lightly on his index finger.

“Good morning,” Jinyoung murmurs softly, voice like honey slicked over wood. He doesn’t look towards Mark but instead takes his hand to grab Mark’s and intertwined their fingers naturally, the fingers locking into place.

_Your spirits are connected._

Mark sucks in a breath and tightens his grip back. “Morning, you’re up early. What are you looking at?”

Jinyoung takes his free hand and raises it, with a point of his finger he indicates to the glass doors. “Those flowers, the pink and white ones growing out of the pot, what are they called?”

Mark follows his fingers to where the windmill flowers seem even more vibrant and perky in the brightness. “Oleander, I think I remember asking Insook about them.”

“They’re pretty.” Jinyoung says.

“Yeah, and poisonous.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s why she has it up hanging above the ground so no animals go pecking at it.” Mark says as he jumps back onto the counter beside Jinyoung, their hands still tightly woven together.

“Why would she have a poisonous flower in her garden? That old woman is odd.” Jinyoung chuckles, naturally leaning into Mark’s side, their legs pressed together.

“I wondered about that too,” Mark hums lightly, smiling a little to himself as Jinyoung locks their ankles together subconsciously, as if it were them most natural thing to do. “Did you sleep well?”

“Hmmm as well as I could have,” He sighs, and lets his head drop into the corner of Mark’s neck. His hair is soft against Mark’s skin, the scent shampoo dancing between the strands. Mark breathes it in, feeling it warm it’s way through his body. “I keep dreaming about a bird.”

“You mentioned before? What is it?”

Jinyoung slides back and let’s his head tilt up. “I don’t know, I’m just on the ground looking up and in the very far distance, against a big bright blue sky, a small black bird is falling down...and I’m afraid.” His eyebrows twitch together and he takes in a quick breath before turning to look at Mark. Their eyes meet for the first time then and Mark sees the anxiety and fear in Jinyoung’s eyes quickly disperse. “Just looking at you calms me down.”

Mark smiles and goes to pat the top of Jinyoung’s head. “Glad I can be useful for something.”

“Where’s this lack of confidence coming from?” Jinyoung laughs.

Mark sighs and takes his hand from the top of Jinyoung’s head to the side of his face, stroking the end of his eyebrow and the corner of his eyebrow. “I feel like there’s nothing I can do for you, to help the memories, the pain…” He trails off before the anxiety in him starts to slip through his voice.

Jinyoung blinks in contemplation. “I didn’t realise you wouldn’t know.”

“Know what?”

“How much you’ve helped me?” Jinyoung says. “I mean at first just the fact I had someone that believed me, that would listen to me, you don’t know how much of a weight it took off my shoulders. Then slowly you became something more than help, you became something I looked forward to beyond the memories, something I could hold onto while I was in pain, someone I could run to when I needed to escape.” He looks up at Mark with this genuine expression, with eyes so wide it was as if Mark could reach into them and grab the stars, and Jinyoung would give them willingly, he would give them all. “Then I found out who you were, who you were to me, and how we were connected. And I thought if there’s such thing as fate, this has to be it, you are it.”

Mark wants to cringe back from that. How could he tell him? That this wasn’t fate, that this was the work of a person so intent in keeping his revenge intact for another five hundred years to come, he’d go out of his way to pull people across the country, to coax and to twist things to suit him. How could he tell him that it was his presence in the first place that sent Jinyoung into oblivion?

He wouldn’t tell him, he couldn’t, because as much as Mark is willing to leave, to do whatever he could to protect Jinyoung, he also couldn’t bare the thought of letting go of this hand that held so tightly and surely, like he was the only thing that made sense.

Jinyoung’s looking up at him expectantly and Mark wants to laugh a little at the look on his face, but instead he hides it with a quirk of a smile as he takes his hand down to cup the side of his face. He hears it, very faintly, the shaky breath Jinyoung takes in and Mark follows it, quick to catch it with his own lips as he brings the two of them together.

They move against each other warmly, slowly, unknowingly. Where behind their eyelids world's erupts; mountains made of sand, towers of tsunamis, snow melting to spring, tree’s giving way to winter, armies of birds taking the sky.

They see everything together, the first breath, and the last, the first thought, and the last, the first move, and the last. They have started together, and they will end together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayye so i did mention it'd be tougher to update this month but i managed to slide a chapter in. i hope you guys enjoyed it! ill be a little active at @silkscrew on twitter if u wanna chat any time :) hope you guys have a happy holidays!


	18. corpses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HI. two chapters in a month was better than i was expecting. id like to announce that i have a bETA. it took 17 chapters but better sooner than never...
> 
> id like to thank S (noceur [sleepydaydreams] @ ao3) for almost killing me several times, and severing all ties on several accounts. you gna see how crisp this chapter looks compared to the crap ive been posting prior, god bless.

Mark wakes up to a corpse knocking at his door. He thinks maybe it’s just a shadow, but the figure is too sharp, too angular and thin. As his eyes adjusts to the darkness, he realises eventually that it’s a skeleton, bones clotted in black, eyes hollow and jaw loose. It simply stands there, still. 

He realises quickly it’s a dream because he’d shut the door before he went to bed and he suddenly has curtains, parted open for the window behind him. The fear however is real, the sight like a bite from a snake, the fear its venom running through his blood. The feeling of the unknown impending is an invisible force that chains him to his bed. 

“Henrikka.” A voice calls out, and it’s so similar to the sound of Barrick’s voice. Something Mark has only ever heard in the back of his head, mangled in the whispers of his own thoughts. Yet he could hear him, clearly, as if they were both in the same room but he knows they aren’t because the mouth that had moved to speak, the chords that hummed with the name that came out as strangled as guitar strings too tight, they belonged to Mark, and they did not. 

_It’s your turn now, Mark._

_Barrick?_

Mark’s hands move of their own accord, his arms looking bulkier, a white tunic that he doesn’t remember owning tight against his biceps. 

_Barrick…_

His eyes fall upon his open palms, large white hands, fingers thick and coarse, their tips drenched in graphite, greyness sunk deep into the lines of his skin. These palms did not belong to him.

_Taste how helpless I’ve felt for the last two hundred years._

Just as his voice echoes from within, his words like a nail to the coffin, he raises his eyes back to the door where the skeleton shakes. Bones ricketing and racketing, jaw chattering with silent cries, and where with one swift movement, it charges towards him. 

“No!” Mark shouts, the cry coming out hoarse and broken as he lurches out of bed. His vision is blurred, sleep still a ghost behind his eyelids, but he can see in the vague darkness, in the slight light that slips in through his curtain-less windows that his door is closed, and there is no corpse. 

Mark lets out a deep sigh, hot breath mixed with relief and the remnants of the fear that followed him out of his nightmares. The first thing he does is look at his hands, squinting down at the angular shape of his fingers, long and thin, and completely clean. _No grey._

He waits then, silently in his bed, his head low and the ends of his hair drenched in the cold sweat that layered against his forehead and neck. There is a flicker of hope among the doubt and the fear, that Barrick’s conviction, Barrick’s intentions weren’t true. That he cared more for breaking the curse than he did for extracting a fruitless revenge. He’s been silent to Mark’s mind however, hasn’t said a word since that morning Mark felt his soul being crushed. 

A knock at the door startles Mark upright, his head flying straight back into the wall behind him. He bites his lip, holding in a grunt and swallows down his quick pulse. “C-come in.” He mutters weakly.

The door clicks and opens slowly, and for one second, Mark thinks he sees the hand of a skeleton but the shadows move quickly, and morph, solidifying Jinyoung as he steps into the room.

“I heard you shout,” He says, standing awkwardly at the door. 

Mark exhales and holds out his hand, an open palm inviting him in. Jinyoung moves carefully, his hand sliding away from the doorknob ever so slowly as he takes the few steps there is to reach the bed. “Did you have a nightmare?” He asks, standing still at Mark’s bedside. 

Mark gives his open hand a flicker of a look and then drops it. “Yes.” 

“What did you dream about?”

Mark clenches his jaw, teeth grinding against each other silently. “I can’t remember.” He lies, even though he continues to see it, in the empty door frame an outline of a skeleton standing still. 

“That’s a lie,” Jinyoung replies softly. Mark looks up to find he’s no longer looking down at him, but through the window where moonlight weakened by thick clouds lightly illuminates his face. “But then again, I don’t want to talk about some of my nightmares either.” 

_He’s acting oddly._ Even though his movements and his voice belonged to him, there is a phantom like quality to him. As if he is himself as he is many people. As ghosts reside inside him, as ghosts are part of him and Mark, there is a thought that maybe they are ghosts themselves. As one would take turns to drive a car, there is only so much time till they reach a pit stop and a new driver takes over. 

“Are you alright? Did I wake you?” Mark asks, staring down at his fingers. He wiggles them a little, the duvet below him soft to his touch. 

“No, I was already awake.” Jinyoung says and then lowers himself to sit beside Mark on the bed. Perching his elbows on his knees, he looks down into his own hands. “What are dreams made of professor?” 

“Dreams? Our dreams or dreams of others?” Mark replies, looking over Jinyoung’s shoulder. He’s wearing a loose white shirt, the neck stretched out a little so it just slightly slips lower at the back where Mark can see the lines of his spine. 

“I don’t know, both?” Jinyoung shrugs.

“You want another philosophy lesson in the middle of the night?” Mark huffs lightly, brushing a hand through his hair. He feels the grease and sweat stick to the betweens of his fingers and grimaces. 

“I don’t want lessons, I want answers,” Jinyoung voice hardens as he clenches his hands into fists. Mark sees the tension travel up his arm and spread across his shoulder, his shoulder blades moving tightly from beneath his shirt. He looks to the side then, as if he were to look at Mark but then dips his head back down. “Henrikka and...some of the others say you’re hiding something.”

Mark reels back, “What?”

Jinyoung tries to lift his head but it drops again with a sigh. “I don’t know, okay? They don’t understand why Barrick would just suddenly decide to take over without something happening. I mean, technically, when you died it would have been easiest for him to enter-”

“When I died, he did enter.” Mark interjects. “It was just the start.”

Jinyoung turns around then, the expression on his face soft but harsh all at the same time. “Then what changed from then to now? If he’s getting stronger...something must have changed.”

“He has been trying to get in for two hundred years now. You can’t ask me for the science behind it because it doesn’t make any sense. There are things, there are worlds way beyond our comprehension and how it’s possible for…for _feelings_ so strong they become an actual entity, an existence...I don’t know.” Mark sounds desperate, Mark _feels_ desperate, but he’s not sure over what. Did he not want to get caught out for keeping the truth about Youngjae from him? Or is it the fact he knows how it feels for ignorance to be forced upon him, for helplessness to be the only option, only to later know that there was something that he could have done, and couldn’t because he simply did not know? 

Jinyoung would hate him. The simple thought hurt him more than he thought could be plausible. At what point did Jinyoung’s undoubting dependance and care for Mark become his anchor? 

“I’m not hiding anything Jinyoung,” Mark says finally, strongly. He almost believes himself. 

Jinyoung stares at him for a breathless moment, and then nods. “I’ll believe you, Professor.” He whispers the words tenderly, the tension eased and dissipated now from his muscles. “You know you’re the only real thing I know right now. The only thing I can say _this belongs to me,_ and if I have this...if I have this feeling then that must mean this is real. You said it yourself, right? That reality is based on our emotional importance to it. You’re my reality, Professor. So, I’ll believe you and I’ll listen to you because I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you either,” Mark whispers back, barely audible because the guilt that sprouts inside his stomach grows at the speed of light, a beanstalk choking him from the inside. 

“Do you mind?” Jinyoung murmurs, he folds his shoulders together and flutters his eyelashes at Mark. “Can I spend the rest of the night here?” 

“Of course,” Mark breathes the words, most likely unheard because he’s already shuffled up against the wall and unfolded the covers, inviting Jinyoung in. 

Jinyoung peers down curiously, a small smile pinching at his face. “You sleep in boxers? Even in winter?” 

Mark clears his throat and scuttles back into the covers. “It’s comfortable.” He states flatly and drops his face into the pillow.

Jinyoung dives in, hands quick to wrap themselves around Mark’s waist, and legs knotting together so tightly Mark can’t even tell which foot belongs to him. “You’ve become...cheeky.” Mark murmurs sternly, even though he was practically melting into him.

“That’s wrong, Professor.” Jinyoung laughs into the skin of Mark’s neck, his hair ticklish. “I’ve always been like this, so you should just get used it because when I get the hang of these ghosts, you’ll probably get really surprised.” 

Mark snorts back at that and let’s his own hands wrap naturally around Jinyoung’s shoulders. He smothers his nose into Jinyoung’s hair and inhales the scent of shampoo and warmth, a scent so close to sunlight.

_Blue skies twisting in the heat. A sun dipping into sand dunes. Footprints lost to the wind. Storms risen from the ground._

Mark sucks in a breath and his eyes snap open. It’s morning out, blinding white light floods his room, making the empty space beside him even more stark. There’s a feeling, a familiar feeling that encompasses him as he stares down at what is the print of a body in the sheets. It’s a feeling like fingers running through smoke and the scent of a dying flower. 

Mark sits up straighter, looking around his room slowly. His breathing shaky and his fists trembling as he realises what this is. Something he had not felt since his adolescence, a subtle confusion as a dream lingers beyond sleep as if it were more than a disjointed replay of images. 

_A desert, a wide endless desert, sand hills rising and dipping in the distance. It goes on forever, sort of like looking out onto the sea and never seeing where it ends. It was a sea of gold. The sun so hot, so high in the sky, there are no clouds there, there’s nothing there, nothing but me, the sky and the sand._

These were memories.

*

Mark’s come to a point now where he’s in a constant state of _realising_ things without actually _understanding_ them. He’s got all separate corners of a puzzle but no real substance in the middle to create the whole picture. Jinyoung’s memories apparently not proving to be of a much help, everything that involves their start and beginning on indefinite block. Youngjae being cryptic and mysterious because as much as he may believe he has Carl shut away somewhere in the back of his mind, the pleasure in seeing things twist and tear may just be hereditary in this long succession of reincarnations.

Then there’s Mark, placed in the middle of different battles, protecting different things. In hindsight probably the most blinded person in the situation, riding on nothing but on memories of a victim filled with so much regret he’d managed to break through a force that kept Mark’s reincarnations asleep for so long. However something else has managed to slip through the cracks, memories that neither belonged to Mark or Barrick. 

_Something_ that may finally have the answers Youngjae won’t give, or might give with his own string sewn into the letters. 

“...he’s doing it again.” Mihyun whispers.

“He’s been doing it often.” Jinyoung replies.

“He can hear you guys, you know.” Mark mutters, eyes narrowing at the two students across the table. Large white cups of coffee settled before them, steam rolling off the surface of their hot drinks. 

They’re at a cafe for breakfast. Mihyun had barged into their house earlier this morning after handing in her dissertation and stated that _one, we need to celebrate_ and two, Jinyoung’s been hauled up in here for nearly two weeks. Technically, this didn’t mean Mark should be involved at all but seeing as he has a car, he is most definitely involved.

It’s not like they asked to get dropped somewhere in town though, no, they made Mark drive them to a specific cafe down the Han River where the interior resembles a rustic cabin in the woods and there’s a hundred different variations of lights and shades hanging off the ceiling illuminating the cafe in a dull, orange light. Mihyun hasn’t stopped taking pictures since they entered. 

“What are you thinking about so intently professor?” Mihyun asks as she takes her large cup to her lips, the circumference of it is so big it covers the majority of her face as she tilts it up. _It’s like drinking from a bowl,_ Mark thinks as he looks down at his own cup of black coffee. 

“Why I’m here?” Mark mutters and picks up the drink from the handle, trying not to show how heavy it feels on the wrist. 

“It’s kind of just default now, where Jinyoung and I go, you go.” Mihyun says, smiling brightly.

Mark raises an eyebrow and scoffs, “You mean where you and Jinyoung go, I drive.” 

“He saw through it,” Jinyoung lazily whispers to Mihyun from across the table, and Mark gives him a quick sharp look from the side. 

“Don’t worry, Professor, it’s on me,” Mihyun nods, giving the back of Mark’s hand a little tap.

“I’m not going to let my students pay for me,” Mark rolls his eyes and settles his cup back onto the plate. 

“Aw, you shouldn’t have,” Mihyun grins cheekily. “You don’t mind if I order another cup of coffee, right? Thanks so much!” She jumps too quickly out of her chair and skitters her way down the small cafe. Mark watches her as she bounces towards the cashier, blonde hair and the ends of her skirt bobbing with her.

“She’s just trying to distract me you know,” Jinyoung says from beside Mark. He has a finger tracing the edge of his saucer, and his chin propped into his hand. A melancholy look on his face.

“I know,” Mark says, eyeing Jinyoung a little while longer. “Navy suits you.” He says referring to the thick knitted jumper Jinyoung has on.

Jinyoung looks down at his sleeves and tugs at the hem, hiding his palms into the arms. “Mmm, my mum sent it to me last Christmas. I didn’t like it much back then, but these days I think it’s pretty nice.” 

“It is,” Mark states a little too flatly, it was hard conversing with him casually when last night’s conversation was still too fresh. Jinyoung may not know Mark very well, but his past lives did, and there’s only a matter of time before the clutter of unwarranted secrets began to unfold between them. “You know you told me one time that you see a desert sometimes?”

Jinyoung’s finger stop mid-glide upon the plate as he twists his head to look at Mark. “I did, what about it?”

“Do you remember what life it is? Have you had more memories?” 

Jinyoung stares a little too long at Mark as if he were trying to unearth the real question from behind his words. The nerves beneath Mark’s skin are restless, calmness as whimsical as the wind on the coast. 

“Yes and no.” Jinyoung says, dropping his eyes back to his untouched cup of coffee, his finger still. “I don’t remember anything specific, just see images.”

“What do you see?”

“Sand. Heat. The sun. A cart. A camel. Occasionally...a pair of eyes,” Jinyoung murmurs, his eyes fluttering with the images he replays across his mind. “But they’re so faint, I can’t grab anything.” He says finally and tilts his head to look back at Mark. “Why are you asking?”

Mark stretches out his jaw and clears his throat, poor tactics in delaying time as he contemplates telling the truth. He realises keeping secrets comes on instinct, a subconscious need to protect himself, to hide himself. He wonders now what there is to hide from when the danger is on the inside.

“I’ve been seeing it too,” Mark admits, settling back into his seat. “A desert...sand…”

“When?” Jinyoung asks.

Mark looks at him, there’s a slight crease between his eyebrows, his eyes sharp as they look at Mark with a combination of concern and restlessness. “When I’m around you.” Mark says, remembering the moment they had first kissed and he’d seen the sun falling into the horizon. 

“It doesn’t belong to Barrick?” Jinyoung thinks aloud, his finger now tapping lightly at his chin. “You think it’s one of the two? The end or the beginning?” 

“I don’t know,” Mark shakes his head. “I don’t really know anything.” 

Jinyoung hears the exhaustion that layers upon his words and turns to look up at Mark. He seems as if he’s going to say something but a hand comes slapping down to the table, startling the two of them.

“Ugh men,” Mihyun almost spits as she takes her plastic cup of ice coffee, sucking furiously from the straw. 

“I know she doesn’t mean us specifically but I can’t help but feel wounded,” Jinyoung whispers as he stares across the table, Mihyun slurping up her drink with a fiery grudge. 

“You okay, Mihyun?” Mark asks, leaning slightly across the table. 

Mihyun stops drink abruptly and then lifts her eyes to stare up at the two of them. She places her iced drink onto the table carefully, her hands lightly wrapped around the cup as she contemplates upon something. “I just need to know why guys think trying to look cute means I’m begging for their attention?”

“Ego.” Jinyoung quickly replies.

“Ego?”

Jinyoung shrugs. “They look for clues to see you’re interested in them as much as they might be in you and when they don’t see it, they look for other things. _Oh, she’s wearing a skirt, she must be asking for us to look at her legs. Oh, she’s wearing make up, she wants to look good for us._ A man’s pride is a desperate and deadly thing.” 

Mihyun blinks at him surprised for a while before a wide, knowing grin grows on her face. “I forget you must know how it feels. This is probably why I like you so much Jinyoung, you understand.” 

Jinyoung snorts, “To an extent.” 

“Did someone bother you, Mihyun?” Mark asks carefully.

Mihyun’s gone back to sipping a lot more pleasantly on her drink and she replies to Mark’s question with a smile, “Don’t worry professor, it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. Thank you.” She says and Mark nods, even though he still finds his eyes wandering briefly over the space of the cafe.

“You are looking cute today though, more-so than usual,” Jinyoung lightly remarks, his eyes gliding down Mihyun. “What’s the occasion?”

“I’ve been stuffed in jogging bottoms and stress-sweat drenched t-shirts for a week straight because of my dissertation.” Mihyun says, flicking a lock of hair over her shoulder as she settles back into her seat. “I needed to feel human again. Also what do you mean more-so than usual?” 

Jinyoung grins widely, “Nothing.”

Mihyun narrows her eyes, giving him a long look before deciding this wasn’t something she was bothered to make a fuss about. “Anyway when are you coming back to uni? The reporters are basically non-existant now.”

“I don’t know, I’m kind of enjoying this break.” Jinyoung says, tilting his head slightly to offer a smile only Mark could see. “Besides all my deadlines got extended so I got another month or so.” 

“Lucky bastard.” Mihyun mutters as she returns to torturing her drink, the straw crushed between her teeth. 

“Things have gotten quieter…” Mark trails off as a thought dawns on him; _the video._ Mark jolts upright from his seat, the realisation surging through his body sparking idle matches of anger. “I have to go.”

Jinyoung clamps a quick hand to Mark’s wrist, looking up at the professor with knitted eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

Mark blinks, quickly snuffing out the sparks going on forest fire. “Nothing, sorry. I just have to do something at the university. You guys can get back on your own right?” Mark hurriedly says, barely catching Mihyun’s nod before exiting the cafe. 

The scent of dusted coffee beans is quickly exchanged with cold winds and the scent of salt as the wooden door of the cafe gives way to the sight of the sea. An expanse of water so tight and flat, condensed as if Mark had fallen into a cup of water. He stands upon a wooden dock, old and worn down, the lines filled with moss and mould. It’s warped slightly from the damp, nailed planks bending as if it unhinge itself from its confinements. 

“Do you visit here often?” Youngjae’s curious voice comes from behind Mark.

Mark turns around to find him standing casually on the dock, his hands stuffed into grey trousers, a loose knitted jumper hanging off his waist. His eyes look upon their surroundings with curiosity and a little nostalgia. Behind him is the port hidden deep in a fog that did not belong to the coast but to the depths of Mark’s mind. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Mark says, confusion riddling his mind. He brings a palm to his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut. “I was in a cafe.”

“Did you forget?” Youngjae asks. “You came to me about the video of Jinyoung.”

“Yes...yes…” Mark brushes his hand through his hair and breathes deeply. “Was it you that posted it?”

“We’ve had this conversation, Mark.” Youngjae sighs, locking his hands together behind his back as he peers over the edge of the dock. 

“We did?” Mark rubs at his eyes.

“Yes, and I told you it wasn’t me. His expulsion doesn’t benefit me at all.” His voice distorts. Mark feels the world let go of him for a moment, the darkness behind his eyelids overwhelming.

“What does benefit you?” Mark murmurs into his palm as he rubs vigorously at his face. 

“ _It seems I did not have to look far to find you,_ ” Carl says softly, oddly. A gentle tone to his voice, a tone that did not belong to him. 

Barrick removes his hands from his face to look towards his old friend. It’d been months since he’d seen Carl, months since the fire. Carl had been classified as missing after the fire; his body not found. 

“ _Carl? You’re alright? What are you doing here?_ ” Barrick muttered, a surge of emotions flooded him. Tears welled up in his eyes as he became overwhelmed with a feeling of relief, to see someone familiar, to see a hope beyond the rubble and ash that blackened the streets of what was once his home. “ _What happened, my friend? The fire- it started at your house, your parents-_ ” 

“ _I know._ ” Carl said, a solemn expression upon his face. His hand moves carefully, slowly, Barrick too focused on the fact that the curls of his bronze hair seem duller, like wilted flowers against the side of his face. “ _I was there, when the fire started._ ” 

“ _What do you-_ ” Barrick sucked in a breath, his words cut short as his attention is immediately taken by the shimmer of metal against cloud-dulled sunlight. In the palm of Carl’s hand a revolver fits perfectly, his fingers laced into the trigger comfortably, the end pointed at Barrick. “ _Carl?_ ”

“ _We have to leave Barrick,_ ” Carl said, his eyelids heavy as he looked upon his firend. “ _It’s been too long as it is. We have to follow._ ”

“ _What- what are you doing?_ ” Barrick carefully places two palms up, daring to take a step forward. “ _Carl, is this about your family? Your house? I promise, I’ll do what I-_ ”

“ _They have nothing to do with this. In fact, they’re probably in a more peaceful place now._ ” Carl spoke with an iron grip to his words, as if he believed them with desperation and force. “ _We need to go too Barrick. We need to follow Henrikka._ ”

Barrick flinches at the mention of her name. “ _What are you talking about? Carl, just put the gun down first._ ”

Carl cocks the revolver, the click harsh, and Barrick takes a fearful step backwards. “ _I’m sorry, my friend. I’d thought about it for a long time, thought about giving in, giving in to life but they won’t allow me._ ” He said the words in a sort of comfort but his face was still, frozen in a state of what disillusionment may look like. “ _She had to go, and so do we._ ”

“ _What- what do you mean she had to go?_ ” Barrick asked breathlessly, confusion and fear soaring through his mind as he lost himself in the tunnel of the gun. 

“ _She had to die._ ” He stated flatly.

Barrick flicked his attention up from the gun to Carl, yet he was met with the same pit of darkness. Carl’s eyes lost and hollow of life, a look that meant he’d given up.

“ _What happened? Did you- did you start the fire?_ ” Barrick asked, the question shaking with the tremble in his breath. 

“ _I’m so sorry,_ ” Carl murmured, his finger inching on the trigger. “ _I understand it may not mean much, but I’d wish you know that you of all the people in my life were the only one I truly cared about._ ”

Barrick’s palms drop dead to his side. “ _The fire, it started in your home, it spread so fast and latched into our neighbourhood first. Was it meant to? Did you do this? Did you kill Hen-_ ” A noise goes off but Barrick is deaf to it as something rips into his chest. He stumbles backwards, a name stuck in the opening of his mouth. Heat pulses and radiates outwards from his chest, and he looks down to find crimson pooling on his white tunic. He’d been shot, straight in the heart, and if it wasn’t already cut, bruised, and dried out from the agony then finally, it’d broke. 

Tear blurred eyes flicker back up to Carl, his features distorted and twisted, his mouth moving with words unheard. In the vagueness there is the shimmer of metal as Carl moves his arm, lifting it to his head. The movement goes unfinished as the world tilts and flies over Barrick’s head as he falls back. Water beds his death with gentle but cold hands, wrapping him in a blanket that drags him down below to his grave. The last thing he sees is the sky warped in the blue of the water he loved so much.

*

Mark lurches and twist on the floor in pure agony; his skin prickles with cold, goosebumps rising up the length of his body as he screams with pain, his heart thumping harshly, loudly as if striving to live despite the metal lodged into it it’s flesh.

“Mark!” A voice shouts out to him but he can’t think, can’t tell who it belongs to. The pain engulfing him as he writhes on the cold marble floor, clutching his chest with desperation. 

“Make- make it stop,” Mark groans, choking on his own breath. The pain twisted its way through his chest, thorned vines twisting round his ribs and ripping into his organs, his insides coming undone. “It hurts.” He gasps, his face sheen with cold sweat plastered to the ground below him, his knuckles white as he fists the fabric of his shirt. 

“Mark! Come out of it!” A face appears at his side, bronze hair and furious eyes behind glasses staring down at him. _Youngjae._ “Wake up, it’s not real.” He demands, there’s the faint feeling of his hands gripping Jinyoung’s shoulders but the pain demands for attention and all Mark can do is look up at the man that shot him and let him fall. 

_Barrick, he killed you._

_He killed Henrikka._

“Mark, you’re not hurt. Listen to me, it’s Barrick’s memories.” Youngjae says close to Mark, his face now clamped between his palms. Mark looked up at him, a furious feeling burning alongside the pain that felt so real he wondered how he’d not died already. 

“Carl.” Mark seethes as he unhinges his fists from his chest and blindly goes to grab at the man above him. “Carl!” Mark shouts and lurches upwards, the pain and anger blinding, the back of his mind fallen into a pit of darkness as his body moves on instinct. 

“Mark, it’s me! Youngjae!” He shouts back but Mark’s already throwing himself at the other man, knocking his glasses right off his nose and pummeling him into the ground.

“You killed her!” He spits down, clutching at Youngjae’s collar. “You killed her!” He shakes at him, his veins tight under his skin, his muscles flexing with every harsh breath he sucks in between his teeth. 

“Mark...it’s Barrick,” Youngjae murmurs, limp and calm underneath Mark, almost seemingly unbothered by the fact that Mark was seconds away from wrapping his hands around his neck. “Don’t let him take over.” 

“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!” Mark roars, drops of water sliding down his face and he can’t tell if it’s tears or sweat but he feels like a stream atop a cliff, and he’s about to waterfall into oblivion any second. “You were my best friend...my brother, and you killed, you destroyed everything.” He whimpers, and shuts his eyes. 

Behind his eyelids he see’s his family, his sister, blonde hair and bright blue eyes, small hands around a violin too big for her fimble shoulders. He see-

“Mark-” Youngjae’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Who are you thinking about right now?” 

Mark slowly opens his eyes and below him is Carl, curly brown hair and vacant brown eyes. Carl who set fire to Turku, who ruined any chances Barrick’s teacher had in regaining his position, a Turku where hundreds of people lost their jobs, a withering capital that was put to it’s grave too early. “You ruined everything.” Mark seethes. “You ruined everything, you burned everything down, and you killed her! You killed me! Before I could even-”

“Is that it, Barrick?” Carl says, his voice so clear to Mark’s mind. “Is your ego wounded? You spent years with a goal to make a name for yourself only for me to end it, right? Tell the truth you saw opportunity when you looked at the rubble of Turku. When you saw the Cathedral all broken and burnt up, you thought _this is my chance, everyone will remember me as the man who rebuilt a exiled capital!_ ”

“Shut up…” Mark murmurs, his fists shaking as he brings them round Youngjae’s neck. 

“Tell the truth! Among the loss and the mourning you were secretly glad, you could finally accomplish your goal! People were going to remember you for centuries, the saviour of the great fire of Turku.” Carl muttered in disgust, Youngjae’s lip contorted into a horrible grimace. 

“Shut up!” Barrick screams through Mark, his hands tightening around Youngjae’ throat. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you, I swear to god, I’ll do it!”

“D-do it,” Carl wheezes, his breaths coming out broken. “I’ll….I’ll just see you again.” There’s a slight upturn of his lips that quickly slips away and his eye’s snap, big brown eyes that Mark recognized, eyes that belonged to Youngjae.

“Professor!?” Mihyun’s voice comes from across the room. Mark snaps his head up to find he’s in the kitchen of Inseok’s house, one of the dining table’s chair is toppled onto the ground, Mark and Youngjae on the floor beside it. “What are you doing? Professor Choi?” Mihyun’s at the entrance of the kitchen, she’s wearing the same fluffy skirt he remembered seeing at the cafe. 

_That was real?_

Jinyoung runs up from behind Mihyun, quickly peering into the room to take in the spectacle. It doesn’t even take a second for him to react, quickly pushing past Mihyun to get in where he basically flies at Mark, pulling him off Youngjae. “What are you doing!?” Jinyoung exclaims as Youngjae gasps loudly, he lurches and groans on the ground, wheezing desperately for air. “Professor Choi, are you alright?” Jinyoung cautiously asks from beside Mark, his hand clamped tightly around Mark’s arm. 

Mark sits back on his hands, the ground cold from beneath his palms. He still hears the first splash of Barrick’s body hitting the water, the memory so vivid and clear like he’d just risen from the depths of the ocean. 

Youngjae moves slowly from his crouched position, his breathing slowing down to a regular pace and all three of them watch him as he goes to sit on the ground with one final huff. “I really thought I was going to die then, that’d be bad.” Youngjae chuckles breathlessly, taking a hand to brush through his hair. 

“Why?” Mark snaps. “Because you wouldn’t be able to drag us down with you?”

Youngjae peers at his side, giving Mark a look of consideration. “No, if I died, it wouldn’t be long before you guys followed. We’re tied you see.” Youngjae says flatly, but Mark sees it, sees that taunting smirk like a ghost to his lips. 

“What- what are you talking about?” Jinyoung asks bewildered, looking between the two of them like he could find understanding in the air. 

Mark flinches, quickly realising the situation he’s in right now. He stares down at the iron grip Jinyoung has on him, and then up at the look of confusion and horror that twists at his mouth and his eyes. “Jinyoung-”

“You didn’t tell him yet?” Youngjae says, pushing himself up to his feet. He pats off at his knees and straightens out his sweater as if tidying himself up could hide the redness that circles his neck and the scratch that goes across his cheek. “You should recognise me by now though, right Jinyoung?” Youngjae says, his eyelashes fluttering for a second like the twitch of a butterfly’s wing before it takes flight. 

“P-Professor?” Jinyoung stutters looking up from the ground, his hands begin to shake and Mark feels his wrist shake with him. 

Youngjae moves his hand from his side, and for a moment Mark thinks he sees metal glinting in the light but his palm comes out empty as he brings it closer to Jinyoung’s face. Despite the memories that fog his vision Mark is quick to jump up, latching onto Youngjae’s wrist, his fingers wrapping tightly around the other man’s arm. “Don’t touch him.” Mark warns, his jaw tense and his face threatening. Youngjae gives him a flat look before stepping back. 

“Professor?” Mihyun murmurs, scared, from the door frame. 

“Mihyun, go into the living room or find a room upstairs to stay in for now, everything’s okay.” Mark tries to go for soothing but his voice comes out strangled, and the worry is so clear in his face that Mihyun just ends up looking more afraid. But she nods despite it all and steps away from the kitchen, quickly disappearing into the hallway.

“It’s you, right?” Jinyoung says from behind, and Mark turns to find him standing up, anger flaring in his pupils. “You’re the one that started all this!?” He says, his anger hot in his words.

“No,” Youngjae says harshly. He moves then, too fast for Mark to even react, Youngjae shoves his way past and makes his way to Jinyoung. His hand whizzes in the air as if he were about to hit Jinyoung but instead Youngjae just places his palm upon Jinyoung’s forehead with force. “You did.” He mutters as he forces Jinyoung down onto his knees.

There’s a thick atmosphere as something happens in the silence. Mark can’t breathe, can’t move from where he is, his own emotions drowsing out his nerves. There’s just the faint sound of breathing growing harsher and louder with every passing second, and Mark doesn’t realise it belongs to Jinyoung until he begins to scream.

A bloodcurdling scream that begins to shake the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eep. hope you liked it!! hope your holidays were good and happy new year!!!


	19. a deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi id like to rec a few songs to make this shitty chapter 10000x better  
> >hotel sayre ft lana del rey  
> >round and round by heize  
> >i was made for loving you by tori kelly
> 
> pls dnt hurt me after u finish this
> 
> thank you again to my beta S (noceur [sleepydaydreams] @ ao3) who act might have rlly come close to killing me this time. i might have to publish their ranting into an entirely different fiction of itself.

The room shook like a switch had been flicked. There was no buildup, or soft rattling, no pre-warning for the way the walls began to shake as if they were going to unhinge themselves from the structure, as if the floor was about to give way to the earth. The shelf at the other side of the kitchen shakes vigorously– the pots, cutlery and utensils placed upon dropping one by one until the entire foundation crumbles on itself, taking down two of the dining chairs with it.

There’s a scream, high pitched and scared coming from the living room and in the back of Mark’s mind he knows he needs to get to Mihyun, to make sure she’s okay but his hands are clamped to the island counter, his eyes boring holes into Jinyoung.

Jinyoung’s bent down, balled into the ground, groaning and wailing in pain as if something was trying to clamber out of his throat. That’s not what’s frightening Mark though, he wonders if it’s the room shaking, playing with his eyes but he can’t mistake the way Jinyoung’s hands are _dug into the floor_ , he’s made craters into the marble tiles, his fingers dug into the ground as if it were made of putty.

Youngjae says something from beside him but Mark isn’t concentrating, all he sees is a swift movement of Youngjae’s hand and suddenly everything stops. The world comes to a haunting still in a fraction of a second. Mark can’t even hear the beat of his own heart, he thinks maybe it’s just stopped, as frozen as Jinyoung with his nails dug into floor and back hunched over, as if his spine was just going to pop out of alignment and he’d metamorph into _something_.

“Well,” Youngjae lets out a sigh, breathless almost. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

That unlocks Mark from his statue state and suddenly he’s shoving at Youngjae’s shoulder, turning him round to face him. “What did you just do?” He hisses.

“I told you I came to test something,” Youngjae says, his eyes wide and jittery. “You called asking to meet and I told you I was here to see Jinyoung, you just came rushing even though you knew he wasn’t here.”

“Youngjae answer me, did you just- did you just make that earthquake?” Mark exasperates, his grip on the other professor’s shoulders weak.

Youngjae licks at his lips and looks away, “I didn’t. Jinyoung did.”

“ _But you did something!_ ” Mark snaps.

“Mark!” Youngjae shouts, the confusion now evident on his face and in his voice. “I told you before, right? I’d been trying to make him remember, and things only started to _open_ when he met you. I told you but _this_...this is something entirely different.”

“What do you mean?”

“I also told you that these spirits, when they were entities in themselves, when they could still roam the earth, they were powerful. I don’t mean bullshit magic tricks, I mean _power_ , like drowning an entire city in sand if they wanted to.” Youngjae’s eyes are wide, roaming the room frantically.

“And what? Are you telling me their powers- that inside Jinyoung, those powers are coming out?” Mark turns round to look over his shoulder only to find Jinyoung slumped onto the ground. He moves his hands off Youngjae and immediately makes his way to Jinyoung, so fragile and small where he is.

“It may be worse than I thought,” Youngjae mumbles as Mark moves Jinyoung’s head off the ground and places it upon his lap. Sweat coats his forehead and Mark brushes away the damp strands of hair away from his face. “It really locked itself away.”

“The spirit? The... demon?” Mark replies weakly, staring down at Jinyoung’s peaceful sleeping face. Or at least he’d like to think Jinyoung was at peace now, even for a fraction of a moment. “What happened, Youngjae? What could have been so bad that not even a demon that could sink entire cities could handle it?”

He looks up at Youngjae to find an expression upon his usually flaccid face filled with fear, his eyes glistening slightly in the light. “Youngjae? Is it so bad even someone like you... someone like Carl couldn’t even talk about it?”

Youngjae lets out a shaky breath, “It was- it was... in Japan, our last life.”

Mark nods, “I figured, it’d make sense, he’s been speaking Japanese. He keeps talking about a bird falling from the sky.”

Youngjae opens his mouth and then closes it. The scratch on his face has gone a deep red, a faint line of blood scabbing and it looks stark against his pale skin. “1945... August 6th... we died.” Youngjae says through his teeth as if something was tugging at his jaw to keep his mouth shut. He places a hand to his forehead and rubs at his temples.

“1945...” Mark repeats in a mutter, his eyebrows scrunching together. “August 6th... why does it sound familiar?”

“The bird falling-” Youngjae gasps harshly, his hands flying to his head. “ _Stop._ ” He whispers to himself.

“Youngjae?” Mark calls out to him confused but Youngjae’s face is scrunched up in pain and he’s pushed himself into a hunched ball as he fights within himself.

“August 6th, 1945,” Mihyun’s voice comes from the entrance of the kitchen. Mark looks up to find her dishevelled, her eyes red as if from crying and her hands shaking by her side. “It’s when the first atomic bomb dropped in Hiroshima.”

“The bird falling...” Mark shakingly exhales and looks down to find Jinyoung awake, staring up at Mark with a new set of eyes, a new vastness in the black hole of his pupils.

_Something has changed._

“It was a bomb.” Jinyoung says, his eyes flicker to the ceiling as if he could see the _bird_ once again. “It fell silently and then the darkness came.”

“ _Pain._ ” Youngjae croaks out as he tries to straighten himself up, his jaw set hard. “Pain is what followed, pain to be remembered for thousands of years. It wasn’t instant, it wasn’t over in a second. It dragged out, dragged out so long it made the prior four hundred years feel like nothing. You don’t remember? The feeling of your skin melting away, fire burning its way through your muscles to your bones till you become nothing but a blackened corpse.”

“I remember,” Jinyoung says flatly, pushing himself up to his feet. His knees wobble and he has to hold onto Mark’s shoulder for balance, but he gets up and faces Youngjae. “I remember everything.”

Youngjae sucks in a breath, his usual calculating face exchanged with tear-lined eyes and a frown, a frown so sad Mark could hardly hold onto the anger that had been swirling around his head so furiously before. “It’s good to finally see you again.” Youngjae scoffs, his eyes drop down to where his glasses lie broken on the floor. Jinyoung follows his line of sight and makes a move to pick them up before he does.

“I’m not happy to see you at all,” Jinyoung says, looking down at the bent frames and cracked lens. “I was finally living, you know.”

Youngjae’s face twitches, “I know.”

“You know I’ve never asked you before… but you see it, don’t you? See them.” Jinyoung says, his fingers gliding down the metal of the glasses. “Memories that don’t exist.”

Youngjae flinches as if he’d been slapped across the face. Jinyoung finally looks up at him, his own face relaxed and contemplative as he offers Youngjae back his wounded glasses. There’s a conversation being exchanged between them but Mark picks up nothing but silence, and within the next few seconds, Youngjae takes his glasses and turns to leave.

He pauses, just in front of Mihyun who blocks his path. She looks up at him, red eyes and fury burning hot enough to make two holes through Youngjae’s skull. Unfortunately for Mark, Youngjae’s eyes don’t fall out of their sockets nor does his brain spill from the back of his head. Eventually he just slides past Mihyun, the bang of the front door the only indication that he’d finally left.

Mark exhales harshly, barely being able to keep himself up, let alone Jinyoung. Noticing this, Jinyoung takes his hand off Mark’s shoulders and steps back towards the glass doors of the garden. Mark looks at him, blue skies and grape-vined fences frame him and the sun halos his head and for a moment he is a painting, frozen in brush strokes of colour and jagged edges of a pencil.

“I’m not going to ask a single thing,” To Mark’s surprise it is Mihyun that is first to speak. She has her hands fisted into her skirt and a frown twisting at her cheeks, her stiffness and fear so clear and so unusual on her that Mark felt like he was in some sense intruding on something private. “I won’t ask, I just want to know, are you okay?” She says the words through her teeth, the letters tight with her breath.

Jinyoung gives her a soft look, or maybe it was the sun softening his expression, and then nods. A fraction of a movement but it’s enough to satisfy Mihyun, and soon enough, she turns and then there is another click of the door to indicate that she’d left too.

“I hope you don’t think I’m going to be so easily swept aside, do you?” Jinyoung says, his tone harsh, but smooth like the edge of a newly sharpened knife.

“Depends, I think I should be the one asking the questions?” Mark retorts, which earns him a snort, a bitter sound that felt unfamiliar from Jinyoung.

“You lied to me.” Jinyoung says flatly, pushing himself up away from the glass, his hands wrapped across his chest.

“I was protecting you.”

“You were unsure.”

Mark moves around the table, giving the graveyard of pots and pans on the kitchen floor a flat look. “Yes, I was unsure and I was protecting you. I didn’t know what you would do if you found out. I didn’t know what Youngjae would do.”

“You didn’t know the future and that held you back in the present?” Jinyoung squints his eyes, a half smile on his lips like he’d found something funny. “It is kind of hilarious how people never change.”

“A couple of memories back and suddenly you’re talking like a wise, old, knowing man?” Mark scoffs and goes to bend on his knees, picking up cutlery. An attempt in ordering a havoc that cannot be sorted because the shelf has come apart.

“Old and knowing, yeah kind of, not so sure about the other stuff.” Jinyoung says as he makes his way across the opposite side of the disaster zone, leveling himself down to Mark where he idly picks up a small metal pot.

Mark stares down at the stone pot, somehow having found its previous grave in the crack of the floor. “So, you remember everything now?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Not really, no.”

Mark flashes his eyes up to meet Jinyoung’s, waiting, and a little coaxing, inviting him into a fight. “Even after all this, even after all these… _centuries_ , you still plan to keep me in the dark?”

Jinyoung blinks, thinking, absentmindedly placing a mismatched lid to the metal pot in his hand. “It’s kind of funny, four hundred years of you never knowing who I was, and me remembering you, protecting- trying to protect you and loving you. It feels odd now.”

“Me protecting you feels odd?” Mark says with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Six years.” Jinyoung says abruptly.

“What?”

“We’re six years apart. That’s never happened before and even if we had an age gap it was only ever a few months and I was always older than you.” Jinyoung says curiously, his eyes moving across the floor quickly.

Mark looks down too, as if he could see Jinyoung’s thoughts among the clutter of kitchen utensils but instead he finds his own. “It didn’t want to wake up.” Mark says. “ _Even a demon has things it doesn’t want to remember._ ”

“ _Demons._ ” Jinyoung repeats. “Other entities with evil connotations are called demons so what are humans with bad intentions called?”

“Villains?” Mark mocks. “But it’s never so black and white.”

“Isn’t it? Things may seem complicated at first but in the end they can always be stripped down to the very simple points.” He says, solemnly. “People are just made up of good or bad.”

“Wrong.” Mark retorts quickly. “I don’t really know who I’m speaking to right now. Maybe it’s Jinyoung, maybe it’s all of you. Maybe all of you is all I’ll ever get to speak to now, but if that’s how you think of people, how you’ve been thinking of people for the past five hundred years… then god help you.”

Jinyoung’s face twitches but he doesn’t make any effort to refute Mark so he continues.

“People aren’t made up of a percentage of good or bad, it’s not possible to categorise people like that. There’s no way to measure it, there’s no way to put it into statistics. Are people bad because they _think_ bad things or are people bad because they _do_ bad things? Are you bad if you think something but don’t act upon it? Or does that make you good? Are you good because you do kind things? Even though doing kind things means you’re going out of your way? Even though sometimes people’s kindness can just be a guilt-free form of their selfishness?” Mark moves to sit upon the floor, staring down at the large stone pot, its edge perfectly snug into the crack into the floor. His eyes then slowly travel across the kitchen, underneath the table and towards the island where he stares into the ten small holes in the floor. “People can only be stripped down to reasons. People are just a clutter of faint memories and reasons.”

A sigh, full of relief and a hint of a smile brings Mark’s attention back to Jinyoung. “Incredible.”

Mark blinks. “What is?”

“You’d think being five hundred years old would mean there’s only so much learning you could still do but you always surprise me, you always somehow teach me something.” Jinyoung laughs lightly, his eyebrows slightly scrunched together.

“You could never be too old to be relieved of ignorance.” Mark says with a cock of his head.  
“So tell me… there must have been reasons for what you did? For that thing you did that was so horrible it got you and me sentenced to an infinity of suffering?”

Jinyoung gives Mark a hard stare and something in Mark’s chest sinks as he notices that for the first time since he’d met Jinyoung, he couldn’t see anything. “Jinyoung didn’t do anything, I did.”

“And… who are you? You’re speaking Korean.” Mark mutters back a reply. _There’s something different about this one, the way he holds himself and speaks._

“We all have access to each other’s languages—it only makes sense to—we just use our respective languages for the sake of mental barriers or something. Not particularly foolproof but it helps a little I suppose.” He shrugs.

“I’ve never met you.”

“You wouldn’t have because I never decided to show myself to you.”

“ _Decided?_ ” Mark echoes. “Since when were any of you in control enough to come and go as you please.”

“Let’s say I’ve had more practice than the others,” Jinyoung chuckles.

Mark bites the inside of his cheek and shrinks back a little. “Who are you?” Mark asks again, his voice small.

Jinyoung settles down the mismatched pot and its lid on the ground, keeping his eyes low. “You wouldn’t know even if I told you.”

“Being vague is better than nothing.”

“Nothing is better than anything.” Jinyoung retorts calmly, his eyes drifting around the room. “But keeping myself hidden is pointless anyway, he remembers everything now. He’ll tell you.”

“Everything?” Mark repeats. “Is he going to be okay?”

Jinyoung offers him a contemplative look, the person inside weighing the words in his head as if he couldn’t figure out what fit together better. “If you mean remembering five hundred years of life, I would think not, no he isn’t going to be okay, but he’ll survive as he has done, as all the others from before him have. He also has you, and that is not something any of us have had the pleasure of for even a small period of time. So have faith in yourself.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Question?”

“What did you do?” Mark pushes. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the beginning.”

Jinyoung’s eye flicker up to Mark’s. “Jinyoung wouldn’t be happy if I told you. I don’t think any of us would be.”

“What- why?”

Jinyoung lifts a finger, pointing it towards Mark and he traces something in the air. “Do you not fear the thought of the person you love the most growing to hate you?”

Mark’s lips twitch. “ _Holding back the present in fear of an unknown future?_ ”

A smirk grows on Jinyoung’s face, wide and amused. “Like I said, people don’t change.”

“You’re changing the topic-”

“I am.” Jinyoung says sharply, all amusement on his face having disintegrated. “I have to address one more thing before I leave… _Barrick._ ”

Mark’s hand flies to his head with the feeling like a needle slowly makes it’s way through the side of his skull. “W-what are you doing?” Mark gasps, the words barely audible with the pain so overwhelming.

“ _Barrick._ ” Mark wonders if it’s the pain but Jinyoung’s voice grows deeper, demanding, and midst the blinding ache, Mark feels a little frightened. “Enough, stop hurting him. Your revenge is fruitless.”

“ _Why!?_ ” The words fly out of Mark’s mouth. “ _Why is it fruitless!?_ ”

“The petty revenge you wish for will get you nowhere. You will just increase everyone’s suffering.” Jinyoung flatly states, his voice cold and emotionless.

“ _He killed Henrikka._ ” The name comes out like a whimper from Mark’s mouth, and suddenly the pain in Mark’s head fades away into the kind of agony that could only infect the soul. “ _He destroyed everything._ ”

“He did not do it.” Jinyoung says. “Carl did not start the fire, Barrick.”

“ _What did you say?_ ”

“He did not start the fire, Barrick.” Jinyoung punches out the words and Mark can’t tell who is talking, can’t tell who he is right now, emotions and pain fading in and out like a radio station with bad signal.

“ _Don’t lie- you all died in it, how would you know..._ ” The words come out of Mark, breathless and confused.

Jinyoung’s stoic face falters for a moment, his eyebrows dip and his eyes fall back onto the mess before them. “We are all here for something I did. This is my punishment, you are my punishment. You have to understand that Youngjae and all those before him, they did not curse us for the sake of it. People are made of reasons, are they not?”

“Then what is it? Tell me what you did.” This, Mark forced out himself, even though the muscles in his body contracted as if trying to restrict him from his own body. “ _Why are you defending him?_ ”

Jinyoung doesn’t say anything, instead he offers a sad smile.

“At least tell me your name.” Mark demands in a whisper. The strength slowly beginning to return to him as he feels Barrick dwindle backwards, taking his thoughts and confusion into a dark corner to the back of Mark’s mind.

Jinyoung looks to the side for a long time and then eventually returns it back to Mark, weighing his answer heavily. “ _Hakim- Hakim Najjar._ ”

Mark sucks in a breath.

_Footsteps in the sand, too soon taken by the wind. Warped and star-filled skies. Silk dancing with storms. Cracked lips and parched mouths. A distance made of nothing but possibilities and hope._

Mark blinks furiously, his eyes swirling around the room for a moment before they gravitate towards Jinyoung. Jinyoung, who sits across from Mark on the cold kitchen floor surrounded by cracks in the marble and empty pots, looking at him and crying.

“Jinyoung?” Mark breathes out the name in a beg.

Jinyoung’s lip twists down horribly, “Professor.” He calls out, his voice broken and small and it was enough to pull Mark across the clutter, kicking pots and knives, boards and pans out of his way and bring himself down onto Jinyoung.

“Jesus christ,” Mark sighs, his arms quick to wrap around Jinyoung, his lips pressed against the curve of his neck. “Are you okay?”

Jinyoung quickly brings his arms up around Mark, his finger digging into his shirt, clutching onto the professor for dear life as he smothers his face into his shoulder. “I remember- I remember everything…” He cries. “I see everything now, all of it.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Mark murmurs, tightening his grip, knuckles stretched white, clutching onto Jinyoung. “It’s okay, everything’s okay.”

“It’s not, it’s not okay…” Jinyoung wails. “It’s not okay. I did- I’ve done so much. I did it all.”

“Stop, stop, Jinyoung, please,” Mark whispers, a lump growing in his throat. “You didn’t do anything, you didn’t do anything at all. Do you hear me?” Mark says as he pulls back to look down at him. Jinyoung’s eyes are red, and so very wide, _they are his eyes_. Mark sighs a little in relief and goes to press his lips to Jinyoung’s forehead. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you hear me?” He says against his skin, trailing his lips down to his eyes where his kisses tasted like salt and sadness.

“I killed them all, Mark… Mark, I killed them all.” Jinyoung cries, his words breaking with sobs. “I can still hear them…” He gasps, his breaths becoming shallower every time he tried to take them in. His hands shake as they dig into Mark’s arms and he looks up at him with those wide, scared eyes of his. “I can hear them screaming.”

Mark’s eyebrows knit together and his grip on Jinyoung grows tighter. “What happened, Jinyoung? You can tell me.”

Jinyoung vigorously shakes his head and almost tries to tug his way out of Mark’s grip. “You’d hate me, you’d hate me. Sadiya would hate me.” Jinyoung mumbles, his lip trembling and his eyes skittery. “You’ll all hate us.” He gasps.

Mark takes one hand and tries to stroke Jinyoung’s head comfortingly, “Why would we hate you? Jinyoung, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” Jinyoung shouts. “It’s not okay. Mark… you said people aren’t good or bad, right? But you’re wrong, you’re wrong.”

“Jinyoung, you aren’t a bad person.”

Jinyoung takes in a deep breath and although Mark could still feel him tremble underneath his grip, he seemed to force himself to at least look calmer. “Hiroshima. What would you said about those that dropped the bomb on Hiroshima? Are they not bad people?”

The words get caught inside Mark’s throat, “Jinyoung… what are you trying to say? What has this got to do with you?”

“I did it.” Jinyoung mutters, tears spilling silently down his face. “I had it coming. It wasn’t enough to remember for five hundred years, I had to feel it to.”

“Jinyoung, please…” Mark’s voice breaks and he takes in a heavy breath in attempt to settle himself. He felt on edge, he couldn’t bear seeing Jinyoung look so distressed and saddened and feel like nothing he could say or do would change it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe it’s better.” Jinyoung says to himself. “Maybe I don’t deserve you, maybe I never deserved you, maybe that’s why you were always taken from me.”

“Jinyoung-”

Jinyoung looks up at Mark with some new kind of resolution. A hard stare that made Mark feel sick in the bottom of his stomach. “Do you know why we’re convinced Youngjae didn’t start the fire? Because he wouldn’t, it would go against _everything_ he stands for, his very existence for the last five hundred years.”

“What do you mean?” Mark asks weakly.

“If… if I were a prisoner, then he would be my guard. He’s always been around to keep me in check, to make sure this… _this_ circle kept going. To make sure I always remembered, and to make sure I always suffered… even though that meant he had to suffer with me.” Jinyoung explains, his breathing now settled and his body slumping a little. He looks tired. “I could make you remember, you know. All your lives. I could always do it but I never did.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t want you to hurt.”

“We could have hurt together.” Mark replies, now sat back onto the floor, his grip loose on Jinyoung, having shrunk back enough to just hold him by the tip of his finger.

“No, you didn’t deserve it. This was my punishment.” Jinyoung mutters, looking down at where their hands met. “Hiroshima… was too much. I understand now, the shadows, the bird… moments before, during and after I died. True destruction, true _evil_ and pain. I didn’t want to wake up Mark, I didn’t want to see anymore. I had died in one war only to wake up into another one. The world never gets _better_ and when I realised that, I didn’t want to see anymore… but I could only sleep for so long.” He sighs, his fingers moving now to interlock between Mark’s. “It’s all so hypocritical.”

“Hyportical?” Mark repeats and then bites his tongue. The look that Jinyoung gives him, like he’d just been sentenced to death makes him cringe back. He was going to beg him not to tell him, he felt it then, if he’d heard the next words out of his mouth, something was going to change.

Jinyoung took in one single breath and said the words like he was bidding goodbye to the dead.

“Five hundred years ago… I had a spirit set a city alight and bury it into the ground.”

 

 

*

There was once a woman, made of bronze skin and wrapped in silk.  
Lived upon land made of sand and skies made of heat. Air as thick as labneh and days as hot as the furnaces they cooked their bread in.  
She had never cursed the deserts she lived upon, in fact she craved the sand, the vast planes of golden mountains. The edges of the world she could only dream of where the sun fell and the moon rose.  
As a child she was adventurous, _unlike a woman_ , her mother had always told her. She knew, however, her time was running out. She’d known that when her body grew, when her chest would enlarge and her jaw would sharpen, that what would once be words would turn into chains. Her freedom was small now, but it was freedom that she knew would disappear into the desert wind when she grew of age.  
So she drank it in, with thirst and she did what she could as a child.  
However, a child is a matter of mistakes waiting to be made, to be learnt from. A collection of ignorance and naivety waiting to be made rid of.  
She had climbed a wall, to the outside, to the desert sands only men could cross. She’d crossed it and in return, she was given a mark to remember the mistake she had done as a child forever.  
A slash across the face, a jagged cut that clotted and left a mark for what was to be a reminder of a girl that had once made a mistake.  
She grew with this reminder for ten long years. Ten years had come and gone and she was reminded with this mistake, she’d be forever unwanted. She had passed the age she had been waiting for like a death sentence and in more ways than one, this mistake had given her freedom, but it had also given her loneliness.  
She was a widow before she had even married, and eventually she’d be rid of by parents that could no longer house an unwanted woman.  
In these long days of loneliness, of darkness enough to rot away her soul, she’d think of the deserts and the sand. She’d dream of storms made from the ground and mountains made up from the wind. She’d think of the wall she had tried to climb as a child, the same wall that looked so small to her now and the longer she thought, the stronger her resolution grew.  
She’d leave this city.  
This city of damnation, with nothing but its walls as prison and its people slaves to a system, a world that could only render her to her body.  
She’d leave and she’d walk the desert, for as long as she could. Even if it mean her dying in the sand, at least her bones would become the dunes and her ashes the wind, at least she would not die in the years to come behind those walls made up of nothing but loneliness.  
She’d be free in the desert.

 

*

The earthquake had been reported on the news as an after shock. Even though there was no real explanation for it, no sense to be made of it. Everyone tried so incredibly hard to sweep it away as an unexpected form of nature. There was, in a sense, an irony to it.

Mark, however, did not think about it. He simply did his best in reordering the house to what it once was. Luckily the earthquake was not as strong as the first one, so the old, sick shelf in the kitchen was the only thing to come down. It could only take so much stress.

Insook, as usual, did not ask questions. Did not ask why Jinyoung had locked himself in his room. Why there were holes in the ground like someone tried to dig into the floor tiles. She simply found space to place the homeless pots and cutlery and cleaned up what she could of what had broke.

Watching her sweep up the broken stone pots that had held fermented beans, Mark thought idly to himself if there was a way to clean up things that had fallen apart without throwing them away, without losing them completely.

“Mark,” Insook calls out. She’s standing before him with a tray of hot food, a stone pot of warm stew and a sheltered bowl of rice placed upon it. “Stop being useless and take these up to Jinyoung already.”

“He won’t answer the door,” Mark replies, making no effort to take the tray from her.

She makes a huffing sound and shoves the spread of food in his face, “He hasn’t eaten for a whole day now. Either he answers the door or you force it open. Got it?” She demands as she presses her heel into Mark’s foot.

“I’m going, I’m going.” Mark groans, hopping quickly up onto his feet. He grabs the tray from the old woman reluctantly, pretending he didn’t see the awful glare she gave him as he made his way into the hallway.

The journey up the stairs and down the corridor goes by too quickly. Mark, too soon, being put face to face with Jinyoung’s door. He could essentially just leave the food on the floor, knock and leave. However, that’d be telling Jinyoung that Mark didn’t want to see him. That maybe what he told him really may have ended up with Mark hating him. But it wasn’t true. Maybe because it hadn’t sunk in or maybe because he just couldn’t picture it.

He didn’t know the Sadiya and Hakim that started all of this. He didn’t know of the city and the people Jinyoung had damned. He knew nothing of the guilt Jinyoung and all those before him were carrying. He knew nothing, so how could he feel anything?

So if Jinyoung was so damned in believing Mark was going to hate him, then he’d prove him wrong. He’d prove them all wrong.

Mark knocks twice, hard. “Jinyoung, I’ve brought food.” He announces and not to his surprise, he gets no response. He doesn’t even bother for a second try before he barges in to find Jinyoung lying sprawled on the bed, staring up out through the window.

“If someone doesn’t respond to a knock that means they’re not here or they don’t want company.” Jinyoung says flatly.

“Yeah, well, too bad.” Mark retorts, settling the tray of food on the empty desk. “Ahjumma went out of her way to make you your own stew so you better eat it.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care, you haven’t eaten in over a day." Mark snaps.

“Oh save it, you may be older than me in this life but it doesn’t change anything.” Jinyoung huffs and goes to turn onto his side, giving Mark his back.

Mark doesn’t think twice as he stomps his way to Jinyoung’s bed and kicks him with his foot, shoving him close to the edge of the bed. He yelps and jolts upright, quick to turn and give Mark a sparky glare. “What the hell?”

“Get over yourself, Jinyoung.” Mark snaps. “How long are you going to act like this? Are you just going to mope in bed and starve yourself until you die?”

“Maybe. At least I won’t have to deal with this any more and I can just watch the next one from the sidelines-” Jinyoung sputters, his sentence unfinished after getting hit square in the face with a pillow. “Will you stop hitting me!?”

“Don’t joke about things like that, I swear to god Jinyoung.” Mark huffs, his chest rising and dropping heavily.

Jinyoung’s face falters. What was once a demeanor of anger and irritation quickly fell apart into exhaustion as he crumbles down into the bed, his head dropping into his hands. “I’m sorry. I just- I’m not adjusting well. All of them before me… they grew up with these memories, they were people made out of these memories but… it’s not like that for me. I can’t seem to meld them together with me, I feel so out of place.”

Mark settles himself on the other side of the bed, staring at Jinyoung for a moment before taking his eyes to the view outside. It’s bright today, not a single cloud in the sky. “That makes the both of us.”

Jinyoung lifts his face up from his palms, “What do you mean?”

“Come on Jinyoung…” Mark sighs. “You and Youngjae, you guys remember everything, you know more than I ever did, more than I ever will. I’m part of a curse, I’m just an effect of a curse. I’m blessed with ignorance? None of this feels like a blessing.”

“It’s better you don’t remember.”

“And so you guys keep telling me but how can I not think about the past when its clearly had such a big impact on the present? Has such an impact on you?” Mark says heavily.

“So what? What do you want me to tell you? Because five hundred years worth of life is a long time.” Jinyoung mutters, looking down at the duvet where he picks at the embroidery of the sheets.

“If I ask the questions, will you answer them? Truthfully?” Mark asks, wishing Jinyoung would look up at meet his eyes but he seems to be too far deep into ruining Insook’s bedding. “ _Jinyoung._ ”

“I got it, I got it already… what do you want to know?” Jinyoung sighs and flops down onto the bed, his face smothered into the pillow that had once hit him in the face.

“Do you know why I remember Barrick?” Mark starts. “If the impact in Hiroshima was such a big thing it broke whatever this circle is, why was it Barrick of all people to come through?”

Jinyoung cranes his neck up and lays on his cheek, giving Mark a look with a half-scrunched up face and a pout. “You said he’d been trying to for 200 hundred years, didn’t you? He simply saw an opportunity and took it.”

“Opportunity?”

“I don’t really get the details but the spirit Hakim gave himself to… they feel too, you know. Pain, sadness, happiness… their kind rarely had opportunities to feel like that among themselves, that’s why they were so enchanted with humans, why they stuck around them. Maybe they didn’t really understand what living for eternity meant, or maybe they underestimated the kind of destruction humans could make. Either way, it couldn’t take it. It tried to lock itself away after Hiroshima, it broke, and tried to end this _curse_ or whatever. Maybe that’s why Barrick got in, he slipped through when it was at its weakest.” Jinyoung explains solemnly, his lip twisting awkwardly as he continues to pick at the stitches of Insook’s bedding.

“Feelings so strong they could break a curse,” Mark whispers to himself.

“To what extent could you do everything you could for someone you love? Even defy death?” Jinyoung says like he’s speaking his thoughts out loud.

“Even bury a city into the ground?” Mark says and that finally brings Jinyoung’s eyes up to meet his, those eyes Mark knew so well. He realises then, that it’s when they look at each other does Mark feel at his calmest, that the confusion becomes nothing but dwindling smoke, that he feels like himself more than he has ever felt it before.

Jinyoung’s eyebrows tighten together and he looks as if he is going to cry but the tears simply well up in his eyes. “Even bury a city of… people.”

“You know what my next question is Jinyoung…” Mark says slowly, as if in fear Jinyoung was going to fly off the bed and jolt out the room, but instead he just sits up. “What happened five hundred years ago? Who were we?”

Jinyoung inhales deeply and licks his lips. His whole body stiff with reluctance.

“Jinyoung, please.”

Jinyoung flickers his eyes up to Mark’s but quickly lets them drop again. His voice coming out small when he speaks, “You were a girl called Sadiya, you ran away from home when you were twenty. I had found you in the desert, half-dead due to dehydration.”

“You? As in Hakim?”

“He was a traveller, trade merchant on the- well, what we know as the silk roads. He’d found Sadiya when he was searching for a place to set up for the night. Long story short, although she wasn’t very trustful of him at first, she ended up travelling with him under the guise that she was his wife. Although it was uncommon for travelling men to take their wives along with them, it made up for a better excuse than anything else. It didn’t matter much though because in the end they fell in love and got married. Officially, unofficially…I’m not really sure but.. they were happy. On the road, they were rarely bothered by people, they had their own world on that one cart and camel they owned. Things were good. Things weren’t perfect but if there’s anything so close to happiness in this world, then they had that.” Jinyoung takes in a shaky breath, pausing for a moment to rub at his face. “Then she got pregnant and eventually travelling took a toll on her. She also wanted her parents’ blessings for her marriage. So the two of them decided to travel to her hometown and by the time they’d arrived, Sadiya was already showing since it took several months to reach the city. Hakim couldn’t get into the city though, he was a foreigner to them after all so they were skeptical in letting him in, so he was made to stay outside and had to wait for Sadiya to return.”

“What neither of them had anticipated was how fast word could spread. The entire city had found out about her return, seen her stomach and rumours grew faster than any fire could have. Before she could even make it to her parents, they all believed Sadiya had gotten pregnant unmarried and run off with the father of the child. It didn’t make sense, she’d had left for over a year but this could have been her second child or her third. It didn’t matter because they didn’t _care_. I don’t know what happened, or how it happened. I think the only blessing we’ve ever had all these years was that we didn’t know how it happened but after four nights of not hearing back from her, Hakim finally went and paid a guard for information. He’d simply told him her body was left on the other side of the city walls-” Jinyoung licks his lips, his breathing now heavier and his hands visibly trembling. “T-They killed her and they killed... our child.”

Mark tries to swallow but he finds his throat has closed off, and when he opens his mouth to breathe, he suddenly tastes salt. Tears fell down his face in streams and his heart ached as if the memories were there but too far to clutch. “Jinyoung… it’s enough-”

“There’d been stories before,” Jinyoung continues, his jaw tight and his eyes red. “Apparently there’d been a surge in the deserts, of men and women giving themselves up to a Jinn, to selling their souls for wishes. So he wished and wished for hours, days, on her body crying, he wished for an entire city and its people to burn and disappear into the ground and it did. He watched it, watched a city made up of sand go up in flames and he revelled in the sound of their screams and tortured cries. Children, Mark, children were in there. People that possibly had nothing to do with what happened to her suffered and died too but he didn’t care.”

“His wife- his wife and child had died…” Mark chokes out but even his own words were unconvincing to him.

“He was blinded in grief.” Jinyoung says sadly. “He was mourning and he was offered revenge, power. He made a mistake, a horrible mistake.”

“And he’s repented, hasn’t he?” Mark retorts, his hand clutching at his chest.

“Has he?” Jinyong whispers, blinking furiously in attempt to keep the tears back but it only helps them spill down his cheek. “I don’t know, I wonder if the same thing happened again... in this life or the ones before, do you think we’d still make the same decision?”

“You’re all different people, you don’t know that-”

“But we’re all connected for a reason. We’ve been reincarnated from each other for a reason. Maybe the point is that we’re not so different.” Jinyoung says as if damning himself, burying himself in a guilt he would never be able to rise out from.

“Jinyoung, you can’t ever know that. People aren’t pre-decided, people are made up as they grow.” Mark says comfortingly but the attempt seems fruitless.

“It doesn’t matter anyway.” Jinyoung sighs and flops back onto the bed. “The point is that I remember everything now and this curse will carry on as it should.”

“Jinyoung, you can’t be serious.” Mark exasperates. “We need to- we still need to find a way to end this. _We can end this._ ”

Jinyoung looks away from the ceiling and towards Mark, a face of defeat completely encompassing him. “Don’t you understand by now, Mark? There’s no way to break this. This isn’t a curse...”

“What do you mean-”

“This was a deal and I have to hold my end up for eternity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lies on the ground and cries* 
> 
> i got nothing to say but im sorry.
> 
> but i will leave with a featured comment from my beta: [Hakim] Loved life, had ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ on his multicoloured tote bag. Named his Camel ‘Arson’. Bought candles as a hobby. Ate matchsticks.


	20. grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while. ples. im so soz. real life is an awful unexpected rollercoaster. i wish i could quit it but then id be dead. which doens't so bad but then i cnt update.
> 
> as always thank you to my beta S (noceur [sleepydaydreams] @ ao3) who loves making things more painful than need be.  
> hopefully updates will come more regularly again!!
> 
> id also like the rec listening to waves by dean lewis. ok bye

_Do you believe in fate?_

_No. The future is unpredictable._

_But what if a prediction were to become true? Would it be fate then?_

 

 

*

“You know, now that I think about it, this may be the first time in five hundred years I’ve ever wanted to kill you myself.” Jinyoung mumbles groggily from the passenger seat.

Mark gives him a quick side glance, his slouched frame lined by the dimly lit sky above the highway. It’s nearly five in the morning, the sun still a fumbling infant crawling out from behind the clouds, tickling the sky in colours of soft orange and red.

“Can you do it after we’re done?” Mark jokes, leisurely giving the wheel a turn, changing lanes.

“Where are we going anyway?” Jinyoung retorts, giving the landscape of empty fields and wired fences are a blanched look.

“I promised you we’d go to the beach, didn’t I?”

Jinyoung raises an eyebrow and spares a glance to Mark’s direction, “Is this really a time to go on a trip to the beach?”

“When’s going to be a good time then?” Mark throws back. “Next life or the one after that?”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“That’s what I’m hearing though.” Mark huffs, his thumb rubbing against the wheel. “If there’s really nothing we can do, we can live, can’t we? Let’s just stop thinking about the past for just a day, Jinyoung. Just one day.”

Jinyoung gives Mark a long stare. “Alright, Professor.” He says, his voice flat.

 _This wasn’t how it was meant to go,_ Mark thinks, his grip on the wheel growing tighter. The two of them had been locked up in Inseok’s house since Youngjae had come and gone, leaving behind havoc in his steps. Seemingly, Jinyoung has decided to reside in himself, and in a sense, he has changed with the new income of memories. Mark, as usual, is unsure of what to make of it all.

Pondering upon heavy thoughts however, is only an option for so long. The past cannot be changed but Mark refuses to believe the future is as set in stone. That being said, he knew a break was due. Hoping a change of pace, a change of environment would do it, Mark woke up in the middle of the night and packed a bag, dragging Jinyoung out of the bed at four in the morning.

They drive in silence for an hour, Mark offering glances now and again in Jinyoung’s direction. Jinyoung falls back asleep at one point, his head leaning against the window, random stray hairs sticking up messily. He’s slugged himself in one of Mark’s hoody, grabbed out of Mark’s bag seeing as Jinyoung didn’t have much at Inseok’s to begin with.

_He looks small._

Mark sighs to himself as he turns into the next intersection. After an expanse of small trees cluttered together, the landscape gives way to the sea. Clear, blue waters spread out into the horizon, met with similar clear, blue skies, and the sun scatters itself upon the waves in crystals.

By instinct, Mark thinks _home_ whenever he sees the sea. Maybe because the constant moving meant a brick house or an apartment never really felt like he was returning to comfort, but the sea was always there, no matter where he went.

Optimism is an option again when Mark catches sight of the coast. The beach here isn’t cluttered with people despite the warm weather, mostly because of the ragged rocks that spotted the beach. This was a diving area, and a prime fishing spot where small boats come and go on the daily. Mark knew that meant it was a less of a holiday destination and decided it was the best place for two people that wanted peace and quiet.

“We’re here?” Jinyoung groggily mutters, his eyes slitted thinly as he peers out the window. “Why am I not surprised to see the sea?” He half-smiles as he gives Mark a look over his shoulder.

“Well that kind of sucks, I was hoping to surprise you,” Mark grumbles as he turns deeper into the coastal town. The houses here are tightly knitted together and small, faded white paint layered upon old hunched houses.

“You seem like a _beach boy_ ,” Jinyoung says with a hint of skepticism.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mark laughs, peering from the road to Jinyoung and back with a little smile of his own. Jinyoung just shrugs in response and Mark continues the drive to their hostel. Finding the place was easier than expected, but then again it was one of the only two places to grab a room in the town.

“Did you book a room?” Jinyoung asks curiously as they make their way out of the car. Mark parked just at the corner of the small car park. Well, it was called a car park but it looked more like a big piece of rubble ground with the sign ‘parking’ at the entrance.

“Yup, called them before we left.” Mark says as he throws his rucksack over his shoulder and shuts the back door of the car. He gives the keys a press and with one blink of their lights, the car locks.

“Stop bothering people so early in the morning.” Jinyoung grumbles as the two of them make their way to the small building ahead.

“Unlike you, Jinyoung, these people start their day when the sun rises, probably even before.” Mark says.

“It’s inhuman.”

“We used to do it all the time too.” Mark snorts.

Jinyoung raises an eyebrow up at him, “ _We?_ ”

Mark bites his tongue. “I mean people, back then and stuff.” He mumbles as he pushes through the front door of the small hostel.

Mark makes his way over to the small reception desk. There’s a young man sitting down just before a computer screen, he’s got flat black hair swept neatly over his eyebrows and a pretty and chiselled face. “How can I help you?”

“I booked a room for two under Mark Tuan?” He doesn’t even finish what he’s saying before the receptionist is swinging out a pair of keys to him.

“First floor, room fifty eight. The stairs are to your right.” The receptionist says with disinterest. He’s not even looking at Mark as he grabs the keys from him and shrinks back.

“You booked _one_ room?” Jinyoung mutters from beside Mark as they make their way towards the stairwell.

“Teenagers really scare me.” Mark grimaces as he stuffs the keys into his pockets and makes his way through the double doors. Flights of staircases spiral upwards and it almost looks endless despite the small size of the building. Mark’s about to take the first step up before Jinyoung pulls at his elbow.

“You booked just one room?” Jinyoung says it like he was reminding Mark of something he’d forgotten.

“Yes?” Mark replies, blinking.

“Were there no more rooms or…?” Jinyoung mutters, confused. He’s loosened his grip on Mark’s elbow and Mark watches his hand as it aimlessly drifts back down to his side.

“No, there was. Why? Did you want separate rooms?” Mark asks, silently amused as he watches Jinyoung’s face contort, a pout forming at his lips.

“No, don’t worry about it.” He mutters finally before the two of them make their way up a flight of stairs. Room fifty eight is just down a long hallway, with several doors marching up in numbers of two. Mark pauses just as he faces off with their room door, the dull metal of the door numbers stare at him flatly. He hadn’t really thought about it when he booked a single room for the two of them, since they had slept in the same bed before. Mark, however, wonders if he’d been too careless. With the way Jinyoung is grinding his teeth from behind him, the tension between them was practically crushing out the air.

Silent pressure finally pushes Mark to slot the key in the door and open it with a little more force than needed. Mark practically throws himself into the room and then stops abruptly when confronted with the double bed. _Okay, so he really didn’t think this through._

Jinyoung slides past him, curiously peering into the room. With horror, Mark watches as his face drops from a frown into a full blown scowl. He didn’t think the ends of Jinyoung’s lips could droop any lower.

“I’m sorry.” Mark blurts out, regretting it the second it comes out of his mouth.

Jinyoung just pushes his way further into the room, chucking his small backpack onto the end of the bed. Mark watches him warily as he makes his way to the other end of the room, reaching out towards the curtains that covered up the doors to the balcony. With a spread of his hands, he opens up the view to the sea. Calm waters settle at the coast. From here, they could see the cliffs bordering the beaches and the jagged rocks speckled across the waters.

“What are you sorry about exactly… Professor?” Jinyoung retorts finally, his back to Mark.

Mark’s jaw comes loose as he ponders for a response. He isn’t exactly sure what he is sorry about, but he couldn’t brush off the feeling he’d done something wrong.

“I don’t know… you just seem upset with something. Is it because I got one room? And… one bed? I’m sorry, I didn’t think about it much when I called them this morning, I was kind of half asleep.” Mark rabbles, his hand clawing at the back of his neck, tugging at the short hairs.

Jinyoung’s shoulders rise and drop with a sigh and when he turns back to Mark, he’s lost the scowl, and has replaced with a thin line. “You didn’t think about it? Really?” Jinyoung asks with a small voice sounding somewhere between hurt and tired.

“I-” Mark falters, his eyebrows knitting tightly together. “I don’t understand.”

“Doesn’t it make you nervous? To be in the same room as me? To be alone with me? Am I-” Jinyoung sucks in a breath. “Am I the only one that feels like this?”

“Jinyoung-” Mark calls out but Jinyoung’s already cutting his way through the room again.

“Nevermind, Professor. I’ll be at the beach, I just want to be alone for a bit.” Jinyoung says roughly, his voice dropping with his head as he curtly leaves the room.

Mark stands where he is, feeling lost. He looks up at the room around him, a small boxed room with barely any foot space around the bed. It was tight and suffocating, volumising the thoughts running around his head. _Nervous?_ He looks down at his hands to find a slight tremor in them. How could he have time to feel nervous around Jinyoung when time felt like it was slipping away? What was the point when the end could come hurtling at them in the next second? Jinyoung could slip away any second and the thought was enough to numb every other feeling that swirled inside Mark.

_Maybe that is the point._

Mark blinks and looks down at his hands fast, inspecting his fingers.

_Maybe you have been focusing too much on the future as I have been focusing on the past, that we have not considered the present._

“The present?” Mark plays with the words on his tongue, as if to test them out. The present where Jinyoung has left to roam the beach with assumptions twisting around in him, the present where Mark is left with the silence and the view of the sea. _Is this how regret is made?_

Mark quickly chucks his rucksack onto the bed, the body hitting Jinyoung’s bag with a thud, and then turns to leave the room. He pauses, just in the opening of the door, giving the room a quick once over, where the sea is like a painting come to life in the frame of the glass doors. Mark exhales heavily as he leaves, shutting the door softly behind him.

 

 

*

There’s more wind by the coast than expected. Even though the sun is high, blistering heat mixes in with the cool sea air, the warm wind running itself through Mark’s hair. There aren’t a lot of people on the beach, a few families are scattered across the sand, settled upon blankets and cuddling underneath parasols. There’s several other people geared up in diving suits, oxygen tanks strapped to their back at the end of the beach on a dock to what seems to be a designated area for divers.

Mark’s feet are bare to the sand, his flip flops digging up the ground with every step he takes. He’s peering across the expanse of the beach, searching for that dark hoodie and deep black hair. He thinks about giving Jinyoung’s phone a call, but chances are he wouldn’t pick up in the first place.

A sigh builds up in his chest but he swallows it down with the salty air. Mark always found it too easy to give in to giving up, to let things flow as they would, but he’d come to the realisation that leaving things to the flow only means an end in which he’d never actually _tried_. To try in a life that’ll disappear eventually, he’d always believed it to be pointless.

He finds Jinyoung just as his thoughts run across the layers of arguments he’d had with himself. To love now and to lose eventually, was it really worth it? Whether it was the curse that’d tear them apart or Youngjae himself, why should he give anyone or anything the chance to tear him apart?

Mark starts to stride across the beach, the waves of the sea barely tickling at the soles of his feet. Jinyoung has his hands stuffed into Mark’s hooded jumper, his hair dancing in the wind exposes the sullen look on his face.

_To love and to lose._

_To love and be happy._

_Even for a short amount of time?_

_Even for the shortest amount of time._

_Even though the pain will last forever?_

_Pain is inevitable, love is a miracle._

Mark sucks in a deep breath just as he tugs on Jinyoung’s arm. He swivels him around, and forces Jinyoung to face him. He stumbles a bit, his heels digging into the sand and he leans awkwardly into Mark’s hand, a look of surprise on his face. _He didn’t expect me to come_ , is what Jinyoung’s face tells him. More than that, it tells him he doesn’t expect much from Mark at all.

“You followed me out here?” Jinyoung asks in a mumble, gaining back his balance and tugging himself out of Mark’s grip.

“Of course I would.” Mark retorts, a sting of annoyance has him clamping his hand down onto Jinyoung’s elbow. “Look, Jinyoung, I’m sorry for being so insensitive. I didn’t mean it.”

Jinyoung’s eyes drop from Mark’s and lands upon the ground between the two of them. “I know, Professor-”

“Stop!” Mark snaps, pulling Jinyoung by the arm. He looks up at the older man with wide eyes, clearly caught off guard by the sudden rise in his voice. “Just _stop_ , okay? Stop calling me Professor like you’re trying to patronise me, you think I don’t catch the difference between when you call me Mark and when you call me Professor?”

Jinyoung growls and then tugs his arm out of Mark’s grip violently. “No, I don’t think you understand anything at all, _Professor._ Because it’s you that uses that title to put a space between us. You think _I_ don’t notice it?”

Mark bites his lip in irritation. “Notice what, Jinyoung? What could-”

“The border you’ve put up between us since the first time you met me. Way before we knew who we were to each other, I knew things were different between us, I saw the way you looked at me. But you… _you_ ,” Jinyoung shook with what seems to be a bubble of frustration and anger that’d been slowly growing and was finally going to pop. He takes a deep breath, the fury still clear in the tightness of his voice. “I don’t know what you’re thinking at all. Is it pity, Mark? Do you feel you need to protect your student to such an extent you can’t reject me? Or is our connection chaining you down now?”

“ _Chaining me down_.” Mark huffs exasperatedly, taking a step back to throw his hands in the air. “ _Chaining me down!?_ Are you kidding me Jinyoung? After all the things we’ve told each other, after everything we’ve been through, this is how my feelings have translated to you?”

“Well, what am I supposed to do? You don’t _speak_! Barrick’s been in your head for so long now, understanding you in and out, now you feel like that’s just the way to communicate? You always keep things to yourself, whether it was about him, about Turku, about Professor Choi, or about your feelings. I’m always kept in the dark, so don’t you dare snap at me for being patronising.” Jinyoung takes in a shaky, short breath, his fists balled up tight at his sides. “I fell in love with you way before I knew who you were. Then, I fell in love with you more and more every day, and yet I couldn’t help but feel you get further. Do you know how much I regret that day you kissed me in the car? I was so damn happy but at the same time I knew you were thinking of something else. I could see it in your expression, I could see _guilt_.”

Mark puts a shaking hand to Jinyoung’s shoulder, pressing his fingers into his muscles until he could see Jinyoung wince. “You’re right, okay. You’re right. I’ve never been good… at expressing myself. But the one thing you don’t understand is what it’s like to grow up and feel so out of your body, to feel so unattached to the people around you- to _living_ itself. I was filled with so many memories, so much life. I was twenty at the age of twelve and I’d seen the world crumble. I’d seen death. I’d _felt_ death. I’ve always thought there was no point in living if it was all going to end anyway.” Mark puts the other hand on Jinyoung’s shoulder, his grip now weaker as he gave himself up to the truth. “I was always one to think logically before emotionally. But with you... with you that started to change, and I didn’t like it, okay? I didn’t understand it and I shut it away. Even when I had to admit I had feelings for you, feelings for a student-”

“I’m not some minor-”

“I know! _I know_. But I’m six years older than you, I’m your teacher, and I’m meant to protect you so when I started to… fall for you, somehow I felt like I was the one putting you in danger. I was scared, Jinyoung, of how much this feeling could grow. I didn’t know at what point my need to protect you would turn into monopolization, I didn’t want it to become like that.” Mark let’s his hands drop from Jinyoung now, bringing his palms up to his face and rubbing harshly. “You know, Carl once told me that humans are built on emotions and that’s what destroys them too. Of all the things, I’d never forgotten that. Of all the things, it was what I was afraid of most.”

“So you shut your emotions away?” Jinyoung asks, voice so small the wind could have easily taken it with it.

“Yes, and when we became closer, I let myself get easily distracted with all the things going on. I guess I was afraid of what would happen if I let this feeling go any further only to lose you. I was afraid, Jinyoung, of turning-” Mark bites his tongue, but Barrick could hear his thoughts loud enough.

“Of turning out like Barrick?” Jinyoung sighs.

“Yes.” Mark roughly brushes his fingers through his hair and quickly turns to the sea. “He feels so much pain and regret, it’s numbing. It takes over him and it morphs and twists. It’s a feeling you can lose yourself in so easily.”

“I get that.” Jinyoung says and then goes to flop onto the ground beside Mark’s feet. He tucks his legs into his hoodie and curls into a ball, his chin propped upon his knees. Mark peers down at the top of his head and then follows him down, settling himself into the sand beside Jinyoung. “You know, since I remembered everything, I just keep thinking about Hiroshima. I didn’t feel as surprised to remember as I thought I’d be, as if I knew all this time, as if the feeling of that life had never really left. Does that make sense? I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Like the feeling of pain, you know it’ll hurt but you can’t remember the feeling exactly?”

“Exactly.” Jinyoung mutters, his finger tracing patterns in the sand. “I feel like Hakim was trying to protect me this whole time. The Jinn had locked itself away, it didn’t want to remember anything anymore and Hakim took advantage of that, but I guess there was only so long till the inevitable.”

“I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.” Mark swallows down the grief, but it’s already become evident on his face.

“What do you mean it’s your fault?”

Mark gives Jinyoung a quick look from the side before turning back too look at the sea. In the distance, grey clouds begin to swell. Mark wonders if it’ll rain later. “Youngjae… Professor Choi told me that he’d been trying to trigger your memories but nothing worked until I came, until we met. I’m sorry.”

Jinyoung is silent for what feels like too long for Mark. He tries to focus on the subtle sounds that surround him; the children laughing in the distance, the soft whistles of the wind, the splash of bodies hitting the water. Mark shivers, a cold sensation travels up his spine and there’s a dull ache in his chest.

“I see.” Jinyoung finally says. “I didn’t lie before, you know. I don’t regret remembering, Prof- Mark.”

“You don’t?” Mark asks, wondering himself if he does.

“No,” Jinyoung hums and closes his eyes. “There’s so much to see, there’s so much that no one will ever see again and I have it, all in here.” He smiles, giving his temple a little tap. “I have something so precious, how could I regret it?”

“Because it hurts, because it brings nothing but pain.” Mark mutters.

“There’s happiness in there though, and love. And in a world full of constant pain and suffering, those little moments- those tiny, tiny seconds of pure bliss are so much brighter.” Jinyoung exhales deeply, opening his eyes. “It’s easy to slip into those dark feelings, so easy. You know, there’s a life… I remember, a few lives after Hakim, where I lived in an orphanage in England. You were there too. In those early lives I used to hate seeing you, hated the fact you wouldn’t remember me, _couldn’t_ remember me no matter how much I tried. I couldn’t stand seeing you around. I realised later it was only because I was lonely. I loved you and sometimes you loved me back, but I never thought it was real, because I remembered and you didn’t. That life though, that life especially, things were too… grey. Being an orphan was one, but we were both girls with no families, children with no future. If we were lucky we’d become servants, but in the end I knew we’d be separated. So selfishly I killed myself… I remember the River Thames being so dark that night. When I fell, I felt like I was falling into the universe.”

Jinyoung clenches his jaw, breathing thinly through the gaps of his teeth. “It was selfish because I knew that no matter what, you’d follow soon. I knew it didn’t matter because I’d wake up in a different life and I’d see you again. But _you_ , you wouldn’t remember. You just had that one life, that one small life, and I left you in it and ultimately I killed you too. I swore after that, for all the lives that followed, I would protect you and stay with you till whatever was going to come and tear us apart. I’d make sure that no matter what I did, it wasn’t me that decided to leave.” Jinyoung’s been crying, but the tears have fallen silently and Mark turns to his soaked face to wipe them away with the back of his hand.

“Jinyoung... not everyone can be so strong. Being weak doesn’t mean you’re being selfish. To take your life, to not think about the others you leave behind, how deep in the darkness do you think someone has to be? You know it yourself. As much as you regret it now, there are some feelings you cannot burrow yourself out of.” Mark comforts, placing his palms to either side of Jinyoung’s cheeks, his skin cold from the tears.

Jinyoung leans into his palms with a slight tilt of his head and closes his eyes. “I want this to last forever but I know it can’t.”

“ _A moment of brightness in a world of darkness._ ” Mark whispers.

“ _To be remembered forever._ ” Jinyoung grins small, and Mark presses his lips to Jinyoung’s. The touch is light and soft, feelings of loss and love twisting between them. A kiss as light as air, as wistful and erratic as life.

A kiss made of the present.

 

 

*

They have seafood at the hostel’s restaurant. There’s a more relaxed air between them now and in the silence, a mutual understanding had come about. That Mark may need to take time to be able to show his emotions without feeling like he was cutting and opening up his insides. That the two of them now may need to focus more on the present, than a future that although seems bleak, has yet to happen.

_Nothing is set in stone. Even a curse._

Things have changed and will continue to change. For a curse that has worked simultaneously for five hundred years, Mark and Jinyoung are proof that there is a way to shift it, or possibly even break it. That is a plan for another day however. For now, Mark just wants to grasp what he has.

“Remember you said you can see a desert sometimes?” Jinyoung asks out of the blue. They’re both sitting on the floor of their balcony, their legs dangling between the bars. It’s dark out now, the moon had swept up the sky and scattered the stars across the scape. The sea, like a warped mirror, drank in the darkness of the night and and let the stars swim in its waves.

Mark slips his ice lolly out from between his lips and looks down at the space between them where their hands are knotted together. “I did?” He replies, his memory vague.

“Yeah, at the cafe?”

“Ah… yeah, sorry, that day is still a bit of a blur to me. I don’t know what Youngjae did.” Mark says, looking back out onto the sea. The coast in front of them is cluttered with mismatched buildings, some made of wood and others made of brick, all small and a little slanted.

“Maybe trying to do something to your memories?”

“He made me remember some things but somehow I feel like that was just a side effect for whatever he was really trying to do. I don’t know, I don’t want to think about it.” Mark shakes his head and goes to bite a chunk of out of his ice lolly. “Anyway, what was that about the desert?”

Jinyoung watches him chew, and then blinks away in thought. “I don’t know I was just thinking about whether Barrick wasn’t the only one to slip in when you died. Maybe Sadiya did as well?” There’s a sound of hope in his voice and Mark has no idea of assessing whether the hope belongs to him or someone else.

“I don’t know, maybe? But the images only come in broken pieces. I don’t see anything but the sun and the sand.” Mark mumbles, staring down at the road just below them where a woman pushes a baby in a buggy. He thinks the child is looking up at them and wiggling its arms but it’s too dark to be sure.

“I see.” Jinyoung mumbles, and Mark turns to find him looking down too, staring at the baby. “Cute.” He half smiles and wiggles his finger down at the child. The baby giggles, as if in response, before his mother pushes him into the building next to their hostel. Jinyoung sighs heavily and leans forward, pressing his forehead between the bars in front of him.

“What are you thinking about?” Mark asks, inhaling the last of his ice lolly, nothing but the stick left in his hand.

“Thinking about how I don’t want to think about anything.” Jinyoung chuckles and then swings back to lie against the marble floor. “Oooo, it’s cold.” He wriggles on the spot and then tugs on Mark’s hand.

“It looks uncomfortable.” Mark deadpans and Jinyoung laughs.

“It is, join me.” He says with another tug and helplessly, Mark falls back. Above them is just another balcony.

“Well, that was anti-climatic.” Mark chokes whilst Jinyoung shakes from beside him in silent laughter.

“I bet you were expecting some great flood of stars or something.” Jinyoung wheezes. Mark rolls his eyes and gives him a slap on the thigh before sitting back up, grateful for the beach view still being where he left it.

“You don’t get to see them as much as we used to. Makes me feel like I should have appreciated the Turku nights more.” Mark says as he eyes what looks like a cliff hidden in darkness, at the edge of the beach, the outline looking like the open mouth of a dragon.

“Appreciating things once it’s gone is so typical.” Jinyoung snorts, pushing himself back up.

“It’s just like missing something you’ve lost.” Mark absentmindedly replies.

“Do you, you know… miss your family or something sometimes? I know you move around the place a lot.” Jinyoung takes a stab in the dark, his hand almost itching to move away from Mark’s as if he’s nervous.

Mark tightens his hand around Jinyoung’s and leans back to look up at the sky in the slot between the bars and the bottom of the balcony overhead. It didn’t end up raining. “I do and I don’t. I never got along with my mum, I think she sensed there was something different about me when I was growing up. She isn’t the emotional type either, now that I think about it. She didn’t know how to handle my constant mood swings and nightmares. My father was more kind about it, he kept more of an understanding distance.”

“Did you not have someone to comfort you? Growing up?” Jinyoung asks, almost cautiously.

“I did. My older sister was there, she was the only one I ever told about my memories. Even though it became something I refused to talk about as I grew up, she was always there.” Mark mumbles, realising now just how much he missed her.

“I didn’t know you have a sister…” Jinyoung mumbles under his breath.

“I have two, one older and one younger.”

“Ah…” Jinyoung nods.

“What about you? Do you have any siblings?”

“No… it’s just me. I’ve always been an only child.”

“Always?” Mark repeats.

Jinyoung has a distant look on his face, what is most likely memories flooding out the stars in his eyes. “Always.” He mutters, mostly to himself.

Mark looks away from him, somehow feeling like he needed a moment alone to his thoughts. He wonders if he’ll remember today, if he’ll remember this life at all when the next one comes. It’s a dark thought that sets off an anxious switch in his chest. Even though he remembers Barrick in this life, there is no guarantee things won’t return to how they were in the next.

He shuts the thoughts down immediately and takes a deep breath. Looking down at his hands, he lets the darkness play around with his mind, his fingertips dipping into the shadows like ink clinging to his skin.

“What are you thinking about?” Jinyoung asks, his voice rough.

Mark doesn’t look up at him, his eyes settled heavily into his palms. “How I don’t want to think about anything?” He says, and it earns him a short chuckle from Jinyoung.

Jinyoung gives Mark a quick look and scratches the top of his lip. “I know we said we wouldn’t talk about it but what are you planning to do once we get back?”

“What do you mean?”

Jinyoung makes a face, “I’m not an idiot. I know you haven’t given up on trying to break… whatever this is. What are you planning to do?”

“I’m going to talk to Youngjae.” Mark says. “See what he knows. I’m not sure but he’s been able to connect to his Jinn enough to use its powers or something.”

Jinyoung nods slowly, a thoughtful look on his face. “You know as much as he’s tortured me over the last few hundred years… I think if he wasn’t around, I’d really have lost it. All this inside my head, his presence was the only thing that made it reality.”

“Who was he… back then?” Mark asks.

“In the beginning?” Jinyoung ponders on his answer, his head tilted up to the sky. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me, I just assumed he was someone from the… city. Someone that wanted to revenge I suppose.”

Mark lets out a heavy sigh and leans forward, placing his forehead against the bars. The metal is cold against his skin, refreshing in the humid summer night. “If we could make all this stop… what would you want to do? How would you live after it all?” Mark asks looking down at the small street that’s currently desolate and quiet, the town seeming to have fallen asleep in the shadows.

“A family.” Jinyoung quickly replies.

Mark turns his head to the side, a little surprised. “What? Don’t you have one?”

“ _No_ , as in my own family.” Jinyoung says, his hands gripping the bars tightly. “I want a kid. I want to grow old with the person I love, and I want to die not having to think about how I’m going to suffer for the next few hundred years. Is that too much to ask?” He trails off, his head dipping as he tries to hide his face in his hair.

Mark instinctively reaches out for Jinyoung and brushes his fingers through his hair, his thumb tracing the end of his eyebrow, going across his temple. Jinyoung clears his throat and looks up at Mark sheepishly. “Is that too simple? A regular life?” He tries to ask lightly but there’s a crease between his eyebrows. His eyes are a deep black, with what little light there is around them, the moonlight barely illuminates his face.

A bittersweet feeling floods Mark as he looks at Jinyoung. A feeling stuck between love and helplessness. His hand glides through Jinyoung’s hair as he thinks about what kind of life that’d be, _a regular life._ He wasn’t exactly sure of what it’d be exactly but if it meant days like today then he’d take it in an instant.

Mark gives Jinyoung a half-smile and leans towards him, pressing his lips to his forehead. “I think it’s perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i leave you now with a thank you for reading.
> 
> and frustrating beta comments:  
> \- "19 chapters and they kiss like 3 times AND I’M THE ENEMY OF PROGRESSION??"  
> \- "Jinyoung deserves the stars and u gave him the underside of the balcony above"  
> that is all
> 
> im also at @silkscrews if u wanna join the curse me tag team


	21. a wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> b.a.p noir album. tis all.

She was visited by a crow.  
A crow not of this desert.  
Black drenched birds with perfectly pointed beaks to dig into flesh cleanly.  
She’d never seen one before, but she knew what it was.  
_An omen._  
Perhaps, she’d seen this coming. Happiness is never a permanent thing and although you may cling to love with the very last strings of your life, it will always somehow slips through your fingers.  
She’d almost died in the sand. She was willing to give herself to the heat and let herself succumb into the earth, but he’d come.  
A foreigner, a traveller, a trader. Skin sweet and dark like cinnamon, with eyes wide, bright for the world he had seen to thrive in.  
He spoke with laughter bubbling between his words, and slept with the ends of his lips upturned.  
He was _bright_ , something she did not think was possible in a land where the sun burned down as if waiting for hell to rise between the dunes.  
She did not think it were possible, or maybe she did not want to feel her heart slip into the hands of the very kind she’d been running from.  
She’d fallen in love with a man, and cursed herself everyday with the ends of her own lips turned upwards.

*

Mark wakes up in the middle of the night to familiar shadows and unfamiliar sounds. The swelling clouds seem to have made their journey to the coast, the sounds of the waves outside harsh and ragged. Mark’s eyelids lay heavy, struggling to grasp wakefulness. He could just go to back to sleep–sunrise seems to be a while away still–but he’s already sensed Jinyoung’s absence.

Even though they kept a certain distance between themselves when they slid under the covers earlier that night, Mark had shut his eyes to the presence of Jinyoung’s shallow breathing and the very faint scent of soap. A presence, like a lullaby he’d only heard in his dreams, had drifted away into the folds of the sheets, leaving only faint remnants of body warmth.

In the narrow slits of his eyes, Mark barely makes out a silhouette at the foot of the bed, staring out through the double doors of the balcony. In the back of his head he knows it’s Jinyoung, but there’s a fear that skitters in the depths of his chest, as if he were watching a ghost. He thinks about what they are, Jinyoung and Mark, a collection of ghosts. But it has him wondering how many lives must you remember to finally feel disconnected from life? 

Mark’s only been living with one but Jinyoung… Jinyoung has tasted obliviousness and has had it trampled on by what could be the voices of a hundred different people all at once. 

“There’s something about the dark,” Jinyoung says, his voice light and foggy, like he were speaking through layers of cotton. “It makes you feel… separated.” 

“From yourself or from the world?” Mark roughly replies, pushing himself up to sit. The thin blanket slides off him and curls at his ankles, exposing him in his t-shirt and boxers. 

Jinyoung’s head tilts in Mark’s direction as if he hadn’t realised Mark was awake. He’d spoken though, and a chill runs down his spine at the thought that he may not have been talking to _him_. 

“Both?” Jinyoung playfully throws, and Mark can hear the smile in the dark. 

“It’s just in your head, the darkness gives your imagination space to roam.” Mark says, grimacing as he finds the sweat lathered between him and his clothes despite having taken a shower before going to bed.

“ _It’s just in my head._ ” Jinyoung echoes, his voice lost in the space between them. “Why do we brush away the things in our head so easily?”

Mark sighs into the dark, “Because it’s easy to pretend something you can’t see doesn’t exist.” 

“So you know,” Jinyoung scoffs. 

Mark bites the inside of his cheek, an attempt in curling up the frustration that is slowly but surely awakening inside him. He could consider the fact that Jinyoung isn’t alone anymore, that his thoughts no longer belong to him and him alone, but the fact of the matter is that Mark is tired of being considerate. How many sleepless nights did the two of them have to crawl through with groundless words and clouded theories before they realised there really isn’t an answer for anything? No matter how much they could strip down the world to fimble bones, in the end all that’s left between the marrow will be space, _nothing_. 

Mark licks his lips and a sigh, broken and faint, slips through the opening as he pushes himself to the edge of the bed. Looking down at his hands, he plays with the little light that casts upon his palms, his fingers narrow and pale. 

“There is a difference though,” Mark says. “Between our physical and mental worlds.” 

“Physical and mental worlds?” Jinyoung repeats, looking over his shoulder and watching Mark as he slides out of bed. 

“Yeah, there’s a difference. And in a sense they work together, like in a circle.” Mark continues as he makes his way around the bed. He’s dropped his formal professor voice, something he’d have used before to fill in the space between them. “To fulfill our internal needs, like hunger or sexual frustration, we have to incorporate the physical world by eating or having sex. Right?” 

Jinyoung’s turned around now, the blue street light outside their hostel window casting a fine line of light across his face. He glows in a pale blue and his eyes spark a little as he watches Mark move closer to him. “Where are you going with this?” 

Mark puts a fist to his mouth and clears his throat. “Nowhere. Well, not conversationally anyway.” 

Jinyoung quirks an eyebrow up, watching Mark as he closes off the space between them. “But physically?” 

“Physically…” Mark sucks in a deep breath as he leans into Jinyoung, shuffling him further enough to have his back against the balcony doors. Over his shoulder, Mark could see the coast shrouded in night, thick and overbearing grey clouds completely eating up the moon, its light dwindling down into a dull glow. Jinyoung shifts, his head moving to block the view Mark’s eyes had lost themselves in.

“You do it too, you know,” Jinyoung says, voice thick and coarse, his breath tickling at the skin of Mark’s neck. “Lose yourself.”

Mark flickers his eyes to meet with Jinyoung’s, his lips curving into a crescent. “I know, it’s sometimes the most peaceful I’ve ever been.” Mark whispers as he presses a palm to the window behind Jinyoung, the inside of his elbow just slightly tucked, an invitation for Jinyoung to lean his head into him. 

Which he does, ever so slightly, a slight tease in the twinkle in his eyes as he looks up at Mark through the curtains of his hair. “I get that.” He hums, pressing his cheek onto the soft side of Mark’s arm. “I wonder recently, though. If we have to get lost, do we have to do it alone?” 

Mark’s half smile grows wider as he leans into Jinyoung, where his lips meet with Jinyoung’s forehead and his laughter spills down Jinyoung’s face. “You speak like a poet.”

“I was one once,” Jinyoung chuckles, wrapping his arms around Mark’s waist. “She was always heartbroken.” 

“Are you?” Mark asks, leaning back just a little. 

“Am I what?”

“Heartbroken.” 

Jinyoung considers the question with a slight twitch of his eyebrow. “Many times. Over and over again. I suppose after a while though you aren’t really breaking, just… chipping.” Mark hears the hollowness in his words, his voice echoing, lost in history. 

“Do you think you can mend it?” Mark asks but he doesn’t wait for an answer before he presses his lips against Jinyoung’s. 

He kisses him, _really_ kisses him. Jinyoung’s lips are warm and soft against his own, smooth flesh with a heartbeat of its own, melding into the betweens of Mark’s. Thoughts lose themselves in their breaths and a feeling close to lightning takes over. They move fast, by instinct, their hands gliding, turning like storms and soon enough they’re on the bed. 

Legs long and bulky lock into each other, hands shaking and slipping, clumsiness bubbling between them but it’s okay. _It’s okay._ Naivety, anxiety, awkwardness, and impatience accompany them but they float whimsically. Alongside is the heat, the frustration, and the taste of letting go. 

Night blankets them in comfort for once. In the darkness, where once there were demons that haunted their thoughts, there is now an infinite amount of space to lose themselves in. The darkness is the woods you fear, the tracks you followed, and the signs you ignored.

_Keep going._

*

When Mark and Jinyoung leave the coast, they leave in silence. The space between them, once filled with doubt and ghosts, has become warm and comforting. Once the physical space had been eradicated, the emotional space, all tangled and twisted, had soon enough come loose too.

Waking up that morning, with Jinyoung soft and vulnerable in his hands, Mark realised that he’d finally found it. Found what was _right_. For a philosophy professor, for a man at thirty years old, for a human who has spent his entire life questioning things he would never find the answers to, he’d finally found comfort. The irony was funny in itself, to find comfort in the fact there is no answer to anything, really. That in the end life is just a whimsical concept, and we could spend it searching, or we can find content in the small things, or in the one thing.

Mark had found it, and with it, Mark knew what he had to. That in exchange for answers, he’d give himself up to an entirely different cause. To protect Jinyoung, to protect what he found, to protect what he felt right. Even if that meant exposing himself.

Which is why Mark finds himself standing in front of Youngjae’s apartment at this moment. When he’d left the last time, he never thought he’d return. He left with a new horizon of thoughts. Mark had grown up with Barrick’s shadow hovering over him all his life but what he’d come to learn in recent events was that it wasn’t him alone in the dark.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here again,” Youngjae says, back turned to Mark. He hadn’t even looked to see who was at the door before he opened it, inviting him in. Mark walks into the hallway, slipping off his shoes and shutting the door behind him.

As usual, he’s greeted with suffocation. The heating has been blasted up despite the scalding temperatures outside and Youngjae stands in the middle of his apartment with a thick sweater on. 

“What are you trying to do here?” Mark asks, already feeling his t-shirt stick to his chest.

“What do you mean?” Youngjae replies, tilting his head as he looks out towards the city lines through his windows.

“All summer, you’ve been wearing jackets and jumpers like it’s minus degrees out.” Mark retorts. He pauses then, a brief thought weaving it’s way round the clues in his mind. “Ah, is it your way of remembering?”

Youngjae stands still where he is, Mark taking his silence as an answer. Several quiet breaths are exchanged between them whilst Mark peers around the apartment to find it oddly clean. Youngjae was never one to sort out his own mess. Then again, Youngjae wasn’t the person Mark initially thought he was. 

“I… wasn’t cursed to remember, not like Jinyoung was.” Youngjae says. “Five hundred years is a long time, I could have let them slip away. When you see the possibilities I see, giving in is easy… but they won’t let me.” 

“The ghosts?” Mark asks, making his way round the apartment and into the kitchen. In the dark and quiet of the space, the hum of the fridge is thundering.

“The heat helps.” Youngae says flatly.

“Jinyoung said something before… he said you see memories that don’t exist?” Mark asks curiously, making his way to the corner of the kitchen where he eyes a photograph of Youngjae and an elderly woman, most likely his mother.

“Possibilities.” Youngjae whispers, his voice delicate and lost in the dark. Mark looks over his shoulder to see the expression Youngjae must have on but the dark has sheltered him. “They like to taunt us you see. It isn’t enough for them to live for eternity so they play with our insides, eat off our emotions.” He sounds raw, the darkness of night being a comfort to a person that has hidden himself for centuries. 

“What do you see?” Mark presses on as he goes to grab the fridge handle and pulls it, the light of the fridge almost blinding.

“So many different possibilities. I die young or I live forever, I get married, I love… I am loved. But at most, in all of them one thing is constant… I’m smiling. A wide smile I have never seen before… I constantly wonder how it feels to smile like that.” Youngjae admits and it has Mark pausing in front of the cold of the refrigerator for a brief moment before he goes to grab the carton of apple juice from the door. Realising the oddness to Mark’s actions, Youngjae finally moves from his spot and turns to Mark. “What are you doing?” 

“Confirming something.” Mark says as he opens the carton and takes a sniff. He winces as the harsh smell of vodka violates his senses and then quickly goes to close the carton again. “You know Barrick always saw Carl as a caring man.”

“Liar.” Youngjae retorts quickly before turning back to the view.

“He only played along with the cruel act he kept up. You don’t think Barrick didn’t know his father was abusing him?” Mark says as he returns the intoxicated juice to its place and shuts the door of the fridge. He looks up to find Youngjae thinly glaring at him, the lights of the city illuminating him. “You still put vodka in your juice carton.”

“I told you it’s because of my mother-”

“Your mother died, Youngjae. You told me over a year ago.” Mark states.

Youngae sucks in a breath and sighs, “A habit, then.”

“You care for people. You cared for Barrick and you care for me.” Mark says softly.

“What is this sudden change in attitude, Mark?” Youngjae huffs, holding his arms out in question. “Did you forget that just the other day you were trying to kill me?” 

“I wasn’t thinking- Barrick wasn’t letting me think. He _hasn’t_ been thinking.” Mark exasperates, twisting his way out from behind the counters of the kitchen. “Tell me, Youngjae, what happened in Turku? Who started the fire?”

“Why does it matter anymore?” 

“It matters to Barrick, Carl. It matters to him. Let him stop regretting.” Mark begs, almost. The feelings almost his own, the tiring type of ache that withers away at your insides and leaves you hollow. 

“What makes you think it wasn’t Carl? All the proof leads to him.” Youngjae says, letting his eyes drop away from Mark and onto the floor. 

“Jinyoung said it would be the last thing you’d do. Burn a city. I’d imagine that’d be because you suffered in it, in the desert.” Mark says and he sees it, an odd flicker in Youngjae’s eyes that he couldn’t quite understand. “But also, it doesn’t make sense. If Carl really wanted to kill Henrikka, there was no reason for him to burn the entirety of Turku down too. Not to mention, there was no way for him to have known she’d be at Barrick’s house at the time.”

“So stubborn… but I guess without his stubbornness he’d never have broke through in the first place. He doesn’t even understand half of what he’s done, that man.” Youngjae says under his breath. His jaw is set hard when he returns his look and in that moment Mark could feel Barrick stirring, restless. 

“Carl’s father didn’t just beat him, he beat his mother and he beat his servants too. But, he did more than that. He raped them, the maids and their… children. The serving boys and girls.” Youngjae clears his throat and turns around to pace beside the windows. 

“You know Carl. Despite his attitude, he’d always done his job well, always put his effort into his work. He’d been focusing on bringing his father down, to take over his position. It frustrated him, to work so meekly and obediently. To attend balls and banquets and socialize in the name of his father. But he was weak, he had to be careful if he wanted to succeed. After all when you outright go against people with power they’ll-”

“ _come raining down on you like the Lord came down upon Sodom and Gemorrah._ ” Mark finishes, naturally. There is a heavy weight upon his chest and he does not bother deciphering whether it belongs to him or Barrick, but he feels as though it may just belong to the both of them.

“Yes,” Youngjae says. “But not everything goes according to plans. Do you remember once, Carl had told Barrick about a maid that had left the mansion because his father had gotten her pregnant?” Youngjae pauses mid-step and tilts his head, a silhouette against the night sky and city lights. Mark blinks several times, an odd sense of deja vu washing over him. Odd for someone that has remembered a past life. 

“She had miscarried. One of the butlers had found out she’d been starving on the streets because no one wanted to take in an unmarried pregnant maid into their homes. So she came back, and with the very last piece of strength she had, she set fire to the mansion. The fire had started in the kitchen, Carl saw the smoke from outside his bedroom window. He had worked on getting everyone out before he’d seen her, walking into the flames as if… it were a door, she walked so calmly.” Youngjae takes another heavy breath and continues his pacing. 

“Unfortunately for her, what she did not know was that Carl’s father had gone to London. Her revenge was fruitless and in the process so many lives ruined. Plans had changed and what Carl was striving to achieve had been lost, the fire would heavily impact his father’s empire. Henrikka died as well. He realised then that we had to move on.” 

“When one of us dies, the rest of us have to follow?” Mark says, Carl’s words a heavy echo in his mind.

“Carl knew this. But he wasn’t going to go without bringing his father down some way or another. So he’d gone to England, and killed him with a gun, two bullets to the heart.” Youngjae says like an executioner on stage, his voice flat and emotionless. 

“Then he came back and killed Barrick.” Mark says.

Mark’s hand flies to his chest, an ache tightens his heart and although silent, he could feel Barrick _crying_. His throat closes off and the air remains lodged behind his lips, and inside is a feeling so close to death he wonders if he’s remembering Barrick’s end all over again. “I’m sorry,” Mark whispers, crumbling to his knees. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

“What are you sorry for, Mark?” Youngjae asks, now looking over his shoulders. 

Mark sucks in a breath, “I’m saying it for Barrick.” 

Youngjae snorts, “He is stubborn, isn’t he?” 

_What have I been fighting for?_

Mark leans down onto the floor and presses his shoulder to the cold counter of the open kitchen. The darkness has flooded down below, like the sea at the coast, the water as black as ink drifting just below his chin. It’s sucking him in, a sight so infinite and frightening, a place of so many possibilities and a place for the end. He’d fall into it–like Barrick fell–and never surface again. 

Youngjae appears before him and places two hands to his face, pulling him quickly out of the black sea. “It’s easy to give in, Mark. It’s easy to die. Much easier than people think. It is then we have to remember that death is inevitable, that living is just prolonging the inevitable. I know what you must be feeling, I’ve felt it a thousand times over but don’t give in. Don’t give in, Mark. Death is by no means an escape.”

“Is that what this feeling is?” Mark murmurs to himself.

“Get up.” Youngjae demands as he pulls Mark up to his feet, his hands clenched tightly around Mark’s shoulders. “I know you have more questions, so just ask, while I still feel like telling.” 

“You should stop acting so cold,” Mark huffs, leaning his side into the countertop. Sweat sticks to his skin and slides down his temples, the heating inside the apartment insufferable. “You’ve been so transparent and I never realised.” 

Youngjae makes a displeased face, lips knotting together. “I think our conversation is done here-”

“Okay, okay,” Mark shoots up, his palms up in defence. Youngjae gives him a thin look before stepping back and nodding, as if giving permission. “Can you explain to me, this curse? Or deal? Or whatever… properly because it seems not even Jinyoung understands it.”

Youngjae gives his ear a little tug, a contemplating look upon his face. “When you wish to a Jinn, they can take it in any way they want to. They’ll give you your wish in any way they deem fit, and they’ll take what they want from you without a question. When Hakim wished for the city to drown, he’d given up his soul to a devil. Given up the chance to rest in peace forever.” 

“So where do you and I come into this?” Mark asks in a sigh, brushing a hand through his hair. He’s got his hip leaning up against the kitchen counter, trying not to show just how weak he felt. 

Youngjae gives Mark a side-look, guilt slipping through the gaps of his frown. “You are the consequence of my wish.” He admits, his voice heavy and dark like a tree had fallen in the night. 

“What did you wish for? For Hakim to suffer?” Mark asks, his hand clutched the edge of the marble counter. There’s an anger, an unwarranted anger swirling in the pools of his stomach. A storm he’s trying to keep at bay because he knows no matter what he knows now, it won’t change anything. 

Youngjae rubs a palm over his face and takes a step further away from Mark, edging to the windows, watching cars and lights twist and turn. The colours of orange and white reflect in his eyes, what is maybe the most colour Mark has ever seen in him, or Carl.

“I was no one really. Not to the two of you anyway. Hakim was just a man that had passed by me and I had many people pass by me in that life. I’d just never thought he’d be the last.” He licks his lips and clears his throat, and Mark can tell there’s a struggle going on inside.

“There’d been rumours going around that day, about the run-away girl that had returned. I’d seen Sadiya before, growing up, she was pretty famous for the scar going across her face. We’d never really spoken though. Her family were among one of the higher classes, I was just part of the slums and she was just this… ghost.”

“I don’t know what had happened. Rumours had been flying, things like she was an omen, or bringer of destruction. Things were bad at the time, odd things were happening around the deserts. People talking about horses made of sand, crows the size of tigers, oases being lit on fire like the pools were made of oil. The Jinns were getting out of hand. Before, they had kept themselves hidden, watching humans, playing around with the odd one or two. You see, they were like bees, once they touched a human, they’d give themselves up forever to keep up their end of the deal.”

“Back then, I was nothing but a simple gate guard. Checked people coming in and out of the city. I was just twenty at the time, been working for five years. It was a pointless job, everyone knew there were holes around the city, I mean the walls weren’t even that high.” Youngjae scoffs to himself. “Anyway… that day was like any other day. Albeit unexpected when Sadiya had come. She had a burqa on but I could tell it was her, I mean other than the scar that went down across her face, her eyes were always… different. _Alive._ ”

“Till this day I don’t know what had happened for her to turn out the way she did, but all I know is that four days after she died, our city made out of sand was burning. I’d survived it though, survived the screams, the images in my head as my siblings and parents burned alive, survived the fire. I didn’t survive the desert though, I eventually died due to dehydration, starvation, the elements? I didn’t go easily though, no… with that last, stubborn breath of mine I wished. I wished for revenge.” 

Youngjae rolls out his shoulders stiffly as if he’d morphed from stone to flesh, and then turned his head to face Mark. “I didn’t really realise what that meant, but in the lives that came after we could sense each other, Hakim and I. I knew it was him I was chasing, but I hadn’t counted for you to be there again and again. Soon enough I realised that my revenge was far more than just remembering. I tortured him with the person he loved the most.”

Mark slumps up against the counter now. With the revelation and truth now out, he’d thought he’d feel something, anything. But all that came out of months of distress, of a lifetime of bitterness was the feeling of being cheated. Is this all it’s meant to come to? 

“So that’s it? You both made a wish and that’s it.” Mark mutters under his breath, helplessness clutching at his throat. He wanted to cry.

Youngjae turns towards Mark then, his movements slow but almost calculated. As he steps closer to the kitchen Mark can make out a contemplating look upon his face. “What has Jinyoung said? About this?”

“About what?” 

“You want to break the cycle right? You must have talked to him about it?” Youngjae asks.

Mark’s eyebrows knit together, he doesn’t understand where Youngjae is going but he answers him anyway. “He says there’s nothing to be done. He made a deal and now he has to keep it.”

Youngjae sucks in a breath and takes a hand to his chin. “Maybe. But the one thing I’ve learned in life is that there are always loopholes.”

Mark stands up straight, he’s staring down at Youngjae with a furious look. “What do you mean? Are you saying there’s a way to break this? Break this curse?” 

“I’m not saying _anything_ , Mark,” Youngjae clarifies quickly, his tone like stone as he puts up a flat palm. “What I’m saying is that there are possibilities.”

“What do you mean?” Mark demands. 

Youngjae turns around on his heels and brushes a hand through his hair. “Do you have… any other memories? Any chances you remember a different life than just Barrick’s?”

“Why?” 

Youngjae grumbles something under his breath. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

Eagerness, hope and frustration all clump together and light up in Mark as he flies across the apartment. He clamps a hand on Youngjae’s shoulder and swivels him round. “Explain, Youngjae. I want to hear everything even if you think it’s ridiculous.”

Youngjae gives him a reluctant look, lips screwed together and eyes wandering around the room. “Answer my question first.” Youngjae sighs, pushing Mark’s hand off his shoulder.

Mark swallows hard and shuts his eyes, he tries to conjure the images so faint and broken in the spaces of his mind. _Dark long hair, chapped lips and calloused feet. Hot sand, golden wind, and skies as blue as oasis waters._ Mark gasps heavily, a hand to his chest. 

“I wasn’t sure all this time but I see it, a desert.” Mark admits. “I thought maybe I was just making it up, but it’s a feeling so strong, a feeling between deja vu and remembering. The kind of feeling Barrick gives me.”

“A desert, are you sure?” Youngjae asks, his voice suddenly eager, possibly the lightest thing that’s stepped in the room in the last hour. “It could be Sadiya’s memories?”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking too. It comes to me in bits, mostly when I’m sleeping. I think I’ve seen Hakim in it, too.” Mark says. He hadn’t even mentioned this to Jinyoung. 

“Listen to me very closely, Mark,” Youngjae says, voice low and tight, tension evident in his jaw. “This could just be a very small chance. A very tiny 1% chance, I don’t know. I’ve never spoken to Sadiya before but only she’ll know.”

“Know what?” Mark asks, his fists shaking at his side. 

Youngjae licks his lips and takes in a sharp breath. “We share a Jinn, you and I. I’d felt it when I first met you and I’ve felt it in every life I’ve met you. Maybe it’s why we’ve always… got along, I don’t know. The point is though, I don’t know any rule about a Jinn only granting one human a wish.” 

Mark blinks, trying to fit Youngjae’s words together. “What do you meant?” 

“You’ve been dragged into this due to my wish. Jinns don’t exist anymore except inside the humans or whatever they’ve already granted wishes to. My point is… Sadiya never made a wish, yet her reincarnations have been harbouring a Jinn.” Youngjae explains and his words unravel in Mark’s mind.

“Are you saying I have a wish?” 

_A wish to break the curse._

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Youngjae huffs. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, though. Before, there was no chance of asking you, you never remembered. But this life–this life is different–”

“ _Things have changed._ ” Mark shakingly breathes. “I could break it, I can wish to undo it!” He presses both hands to his temples and squeezes his eyes shut, as if the pressure could bring the theory to life. 

_Please, please, please, please._ He begs in silence. _Undo this curse._

“Mark, Mark,” Youngjae calls out, his voice distant but distracting.

“Let me try, Youngjae. I have to try.” Mark murmurs desperately, his head bent so far forward they were practically between his knees. 

Hands slip in between his own, gentle and awkward, and when Mark opens his eyes he’s face to face with a solemn expression. “It isn’t going to be so simple, Mark.” Youngjae says, his voice dripped in pity, for Mark, for himself, maybe for all of them. 

“W-why? Why can’t things be so simple?” Mark’s voice cracks, and he’s trying so hard not to let it _get to him_. 

A half-smile grows on Youngjae’s face, the kind of smile Mark’s never seen on him, but the kind of smile he finds suits him the most. “Well let’s be honest, Jinns are tricky bastards. As if they’d give in without some fun.” He scoffs and drops his hands from Mark’s face. “Go home and sleep, Mark. There’s no rush, we can figure this out.”

“You say there’s no rush but why do I feel like time’s running out?” Mark murmurs. 

Youngjae gives him a long look and then sighs. “Waiting is possibly one of the worst types of tortures so I’m not going to say sit back and do nothing. Maybe for now, try and connect with Sadiya, find out if Barrick knows anything? I don’t know if they can even communicate, but it’s a start.” 

Mark sucks in a deep breath and nods. “A start.”

Youngjae nods back and gives Mark’s shoulder a pat. “Now go, before Jinyoung gets annoyingly jealous. I have been at the end of that stick way too many times now.” Youngjae scoffs and turns around, heading to the wall beside the front door and flicking on the light switch. 

In the light, the dark circles under Youngjae’s eyes are stark against his skin. He looks tired and even a little sad, being forced to recollect things he’d rather keep at the back of his mind was taking a toll on him more than Mark had thought it would. 

Mark makes his way to the door without another word. Youngjae’s presence is faint from behind him as he slips on his shoes, as if Youngjae was ready to slip back into the darkness the second Mark was going to leave. As he reaches for the door handle, a brief thought runs through Mark’s mind. 

“What was your name?” It slips out of his mouth before he even thinks about whether it’s appropriate to ask. He looks over his shoulder to find Youngjae stiff, a hand clenching the wall beside him. “Back then, in the beginning.” 

Youngjae licks his lips and gives the floor a look, “Does it matter?” 

“Is it hard to say?” Mark retorts. 

Youngjae stretches out his jaw and gives Mark a final look. “See you at work, Mark.” He says, flatly. 

Mark takes his expression in and decides not to push it. “See you.” Mark says before leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and some quotes from my beta:
> 
> "Aquilaprisca is a lying dickhead fakeass mcheadass "  
> "Jy’s gonna end up having his arteries BLOCKED and DYING if he hangs around mark the greasy ass deep fat fryer"  
> "u rly let jinyoung fall ffor that too. Mark, the 30 year old greasy ass professor who uses philosophy to get a jinyoung. That’s it that’s the fic"


	22. hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pls listen to 'breathe acoustic' by seeb, neev  
> if u wish

Mark spent the whole night wishing. Words got tangled in dreams while consciousness drifted in and out. He wished, and wished, and wished. Wished to undo the knots that have tightened around their necks like a noose for the last five hundred years. His begs spilled into the air, trickling down his face in sleepy tears. Nothing changed though. Nothing but the darkness slowly giving way to light and soon enough, morning had come with the sun greeting him in mockery. 

Hope is dangerous, Mark concludes as he achingly sits up. 

Many thoughts swam around him amongst the darkness, where he laid under his covers, hearing nothing but the soft creak of the house. He’d tried piecing together everything Jinyoung and Youngjae had told him, frustrated by the fact that neither of them really knew the truth about their own predicament. 

Youngjae had said Mark shared a Jinn with Jinyoung, but then he said he shared one with Youngjae too. Was it even possible for them to split themselves into two people? Into a person who had never even voluntarily gave themselves up in the first place? Or maybe it was an opportunity? If Jinns like to play games so much, to twist and prick at human’s like plucking the legs of a spider one by one, then certainly they must have left an opening? 

After all, fixed immortality doesn’t seem like something that even a demon would want. 

So if he had a wish or even two, how does he go about getting them granted?

“Penny for your thoughts?” Jinyoung’s voice is light, a butterfly fluttering through the thick fog of Mark’s room. 

“Do you have a couple of pennies?” Mark chuckles.

“Rough night?” Jinyoung asks as he makes his way into the room. 

“Can you tell?” Mark sighs and rubs a palm over his face. He feels sticky and hot, it was warm throughout the night but with the sun now rising, Mark can tell today was going to be torture.

Jinyoung settles beside him on the bed and takes a hand to the side of Mark’s face. “Don’t do that.” Mark cringes. “I’m all… gross right now.” 

Jinyoung snorts and takes his head to Mark’s hair where he ruffles at the clump of strands. With the little space between them, Mark can see all the fine details of Jinyoung’s face. There’s the small upturn of his lips that says he’s trying to act like he’s okay. Mark is silent for a moment, his eyes travelling across Jinyoung’s face, noting the dark shadows beneath Jinyoung’s eyes and the faint lines of his forehead, as if he’d had his eyebrows scrunched together for a while. 

“Are you alright?” Mark finally asks, quiet and gentle. 

Jinyoung’s hand settles down onto the cushion of Mark’s hair. His eyes flicker down briefly before traveling back to meet with Mark’s. “What context are you asking in?”

“Memories of dead people aside context?” Mark asks with a raise of an eyebrow. 

It earns him a small, genuine smile from Jinyoung before it disappears into a sigh. “It’s nothing much, I’ve just been having headaches. Makes it hard to sleep but I guess the nightmares are less frequent?” 

Mark half-smiles as he takes two palms to Jinyoung’s cheeks and cradles his face. “Were you always such a positive person?” 

Jinyoung puckers his lips and gives Mark an arrogant sort of look. “I try.” 

Mark chuckles and goes to press his lips to Jinyoung’s for a short kiss. “Oh, you’re being loveable, Professor.” Jinyoung says between the tight space of Mark’s hands. His words make Mark still for a moment before cringing back.

“Can we agree not to use titles like ‘Professor’ in these sort of situations? It makes me feel like a pervert.” Mark mumbles, dropping his hands away from Jinyoung’s face and almost rubbing them on his pants.

Jinyoung rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes, Mr. Tuan.” He huffs, getting up off the bed. 

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.” Mark whines as he follows him up, heading out of the bedroom door. 

Jinyoung suddenly stops mid-step and swivels around on his heels, facing Mark with extreme proximity and a sly grin on his face. “Let’s just go down and have some breakfast before Ahjumma starts screaming, hmm, Mark?” Jinyoung grins wide now, his eyes dancing and in a flash, he gives him a peck on the cheek and disappears down the hallway.

Mark blinks as he brings his hand up to his face, fingertips barely grazing the skin of his cheek. He’s trying to fight off a goofy smile but it eventually wins and now Mark’s standing in his doorway alone looking like an idiot. 

After a very much dazed wash up in the bathroom, Mark finally makes his way downstairs and into the kitchen where breakfast is set up in the form of a feast. Insook and Jinyoung are already settled in their seats, their faces nose deep into their rice bowls. Mark’s staring down at the spread of food, he stops counting how many side dishes there are laid out on the table by the time he gets to eleven. 

“What’s the occasion?” Mark asks mildly baffled and a little starstruck. 

“Leftovers.” Jinyoung says mouthful, not even bothering to lift his eyes up from wherever his chopsticks were landing. “Ahjumma and her daughter have been making food together we’ve now got side dishes to feed an army for a week.” 

“I see.” Mark nods as he takes his seat in front of Jinyoung, meekly picking up his own set of chopstick. “Thank you for the food.” He quickly mumbles before flying for the food. 

They eat in blissful silence for a while, Mark and Jinyoung completely immersed in the home cooked food that they don’t even notice Insook has been staring at them for ten minutes straight. 

“You two didn’t come home the other night.” She says out of the blue. 

Mark spits out rice everywhere, mainly at Jinyoung. “What!?” He chokes out. 

“Ah, Professor,” Jinyoung sighs to himself, picking small bits of rice off of his t-shirt. “Ever the obvious.”

Mark gives him a thin glare before returning his look to Insook. She simply shrugs and goes back to her food. 

“This woman,” Mark mutters and slaps his chopstick to the table. “We went to the beach, Ahjumma, stop thinking weird things!”

“I didn’t say anything,” She retorts. Jinyoung bites his lip, a futile attempt in trying to to hide his amused smile. 

“Seriously,” Mark frustratingly huffs, eyeing Insook for a moment longer before something over her shoulder, in the garden, catches his eye. He thinks he sees a cloth flying in the wind for a moment, a vibrant orange against the soft green leaves cradling flowers in beds of soil. It flickers in the air for a moment before disappearing behind the wall of the kitchen. 

Mark stares out to through the glass doors of the garden for a while, waiting to see that same orange fabric come flying back around but nothing appears. In fact, Mark doesn’t see any movement at all, not even a breeze strong enough to even rattle the hanging flower pots. 

“What you looking at?” Jinyoung asks between chews.

“Hm?” Mark blinks. “Ah, nothing, just thought I saw something.” 

Jinyoung’s jaw moves slower as he eyes Mark pick his chopsticks back up. “I decided to go back to classes today.” He announces quickly.

Insook continues on slurping up her soup and picking at side dishes as if she hadn’t heard a thing, somehow comfortable in settling into the background. Mark tries not to let the sudden spark of worry show on his face, his fists growing tighter as he swings the pair of chopsticks in the air.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” He tries to go for nonchalant but his jaw is stiff and his voices comes out small, constraint. 

Jinyoung easily picks up on it but doesn’t try to make a point of it. “It’s been nearly three weeks. The longer I stay absent, the more my reappearance is a big deal. I need to go back like I’ve got nothing to hide.” He says.

It’s reasonable, it’s understandable. He’s right, but that doesn’t mean Mark likes it. “What if someone starts asking questions? What if there are still reporters hanging around?” 

“Oh come on, Professor. Reporters can only hold onto a conspiracy theory for so long. Besides I know how to deal with people more than you know. I wasn’t always the… hysteric?” Jinyoung quips with a grin, a soft smile trying to ease the tension in Mark that’s so evident he might as well have had a neon light above his head that said ‘don’t go’. 

“Fine,” Mark forces out, breathing sharply through his nose. “But you stick with Mihyun at all times, even to the bathroom if you have to and if anything happens- and I mean the _tiniest_ anything- call me, okay? I haven’t got any lectures today so I’m at home.” 

Jinyoung gives Mark a nod. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” He says with so much ease Mark almost believes him. “So if you’ve got the day off, what’re you planning to do today?” 

Mark licks his lips as he reaches for his cup of water. His eyes travel back towards the double doors of the back garden where the sky is clean of clouds and the roofs of houses ripple with heat. “I’m going to meditate.” Mark says and takes a long sip of his water.

*

Mark’s been sitting on the docks for a while too long now. Even though time is a whimsical concept to the waters of his mind, there was only so much entertainment in watching the faint waves of the sea before him.

“Barrick,” Mark almost groans. “You can’t hide forever.” 

“ _On the contrary, that’s exactly what I can do._ ” He huffs from behind. Mark doesn’t bother turning around, his eyes down to his hands where he’s been picking at his nails . 

“You’ve been fighting your way through for so long, what a waste of time and effort.” Mark snorts as Barrick moves closer to him. The wooden docks below creak and moan as he shifts his weight downwards and settles crossed legged beside Mark. 

“ _Exactly, what a waste of time._ ” Barrick sighs and in turn, the wind around them moves quickly, cold sweeping through the strands of their hair. 

“Do you regret it though?” Mark asks, finally turning to look at Barrick. He’s in his favourite white tunic, tucked neatly into a pair of brown trousers fastened with a black belt. 

Barrick’s blue eyes are bright, the usual greyness that clouded them had seemingly dissipated. They flicker to meet with Mark’s and reveal that it was more than the colour that had changed in them. “ _I have had enough of regrets._ ” He says simply.

This makes Mark smile, it’s unfamiliar to the both of them but he doesn’t fight it off his face. “That is possibly the best thing I have heard from you yet.” Mark chuckles lowly, returning his gaze back out to the sea. He thinks briefly about this place, how in his head he associated it a lot with Turku even though it wasn’t the same view Barrick had seen for most of his life. 

“ _It feels like home._ ” Barrick says, reading Mark’s thoughts. 

“It is home.” Mark replies. “No matter where I am, no matter who I am, it is always home.” 

“ _Do you think we’d feel the same if we remembered Sadiya?_ ” Barrick contemplates.

“You don’t remember her?” Mark asks.

Barrick shakes his head. “ _We weren’t ever meant to remember._ ” 

“You can’t even talk to her now? In whatever… place you are in now?” 

“ _No, I’ve never had any contact with our previous lives._ ”

“What about the ones in between?” Mark pushes, looking at Barrick from the side. “France? Japan?” 

“ _I couldn’t get through to them. They don’t remember me and I lost them the moment they died._ ” Barrick sighs and turns his face to look at Mark directly. “ _I know why you wanted to meet and talk, Mark, but if I had answers for you, I would have given them to you._ ”

Mark’s eyebrows knit together as his lips downturn into a scowl. “Would you have? Are you telling the truth now?” 

Barrick takes in Mark’s contempt, his face flat and still. “ _Before… I had my reasons to keep things from you, I didn’t want you to get in the way, but now, there’s nothing. There’s no reason for me to be here._ ” He admits solemnly, and despite what he had said earlier, Mark could still feel the regret spilling off him. 

Mark sucks in a big breath and drops his head into his hands. “I feel like these past few months have been a puzzle I piece together from one end only to have it unravel from another.”

“ _You’ve been nervous._ ” Barrick notes. 

Mark rubs at his face and settles his chin into the palm of his hand. “I feel like something is going to happen. And with everything that’s gone on, I don’t know to what extent this feeling is just _a feeling_...” He trails off and turns to look at Barrick. “Or a warning.” 

Barrick levels his eyes to Mark and then goes to place a large hand to Mark’s back. It’s odd, even though Barrick looked younger, his hands smaller than Mark’s, he comforted him better than anyone could have, and he didn’t say a thing. 

“ _I’m not sure of it but I am rather confident that there have been memories coming undone inside you that do not belong to either of us. Nor do they belong to those between us either._ ” Barrick says, his face serious and thoughtful. “ _Desert and silk, heat beyond comprehension. Things I have never felt before but remember as though I had. She may be with us, Mark._ ”

“Then why isn’t she showing herself?” Mark frustratingly sighs. 

“ _Maybe there’s just a time for everything-_ ” 

“I don’t have time!” Mark snaps and gets up to his feet. 

Barrick looks up at him with confusion. “ _What has agitated you so much?_ ” His eyes swarm over Mark, evidently trying to find the answer to his question on his own.

“I don’t know,” Mark sighs, the heels of his feet digging into the wood below. “No one knows anything. They’ve been chasing each other for 500 hundred years and they don’t even know anything!” 

“ _You are talking about Ca- Youngjae and Jinyoung?_ ” Barrick says, following him up to his feet. 

“Barrick, I thought Youngjae might have all the answers, and I don’t know if he’s really oblivious or lying but his words aren’t adding up. How can I possibly go about breaking _this_ and saving Jinyoung if no one even knows what this is?” Mark sucks in a large breath, brushing his fingers through his hair in frustration. 

“ _You need to stop being so harsh on yourself, my friend._ ” Barrick says carefully. He steps in front of Mark and places two hands to his shoulder. His height is almost overbearing at this proximity, something Mark had never noticed before. “ _You have more answers now than any of us had since the beginning, reincarnations included. It will come._ ” 

Mark looks into Barrick’s eyes and let’s out a deep breath. “It will come…”

“What will come?” Minhyun’s voice comes in like a crack to concrete. The ocean before him slips away into the holes of his mind, water falling into beds of soil where flowers bloom in colours so vibrant it stings his eyes. What was the sun once clogged with the fogs and clouds of his imagination now hangs in the sky with a fiery revenge, insufferable heat coating the ground. Mark wonders briefly if he thought to put on sunscreen before he decided to meditate in the back garden. The chances are low. 

Mark sucks in a quiet breath and squeezes his eyes shut, reality slipping back in slowly but surely. He’d always feel like this whenever he’d come out of his visits with Barrick, whenever he swam through his past life for too long. It could be explained as a sort of ‘out of body’ experience, but it felt more like delving very deep into himself, like playing with the edges of a coma. 

“Professor?” Minhyun’s voice is small as she calls out to him. Her blonde hair curtains Mark’s vision as she cranes down to get a closer look. 

Mark blinks and looks up, offering her a small smile. “You’re here?”

Mihyun takes in his expression and nods meekly, whatever may have been worrying her now swept aside. “Yeah, just came back with Jinyoung.” 

“Already?” Mark mumbles and looks down to his wristwatch, it’s already two in the afternoon. 

“We just had the one lecture today,” She explains as Mark pushes himself up from the tiled ground. 

“How was it?” Mark asks as he pats off fine dust from his bottoms and stretches out his arms, muscles stiff and tight. He didn’t check what time he’d come out here to think but he feels as if he’d been here for hours. 

“Awkward, definitely awkward,” Mihyun says, crossing her arms over her chest. “But no one really went out and attacked him so better than expected?” 

Mark nods, patting Mihyun on the shoulder. “Thank you, Mihyun. You’ve done a lot.” 

“You don’t need to thank me, Professor. He’s my friend.” Mihyun grins but then it drops as a thought dawns on her. “Ah, but Jinyoung’s not very happy right now so I’d say to stay away from his room.”

“What, why?” Mark asks more than ready to ignore her warning and make his way to Jinyoung. 

Mihyun puts a hand out to stop him. “We went to pick some stuff up from his dorm room and he just found all his boxes outside. Seems that Jaebum has requested for a roommate change.” She explains. 

“Can he just do that?” 

“Well considering Jinyoung's unique circumstances, I’m going to assume it wasn’t hard.” Mihyun shrugs and drops her hand. “On the plus side, they’re offering him a single room without extra charges. Said it’d be free some time next week.” 

A pang of disappointment hits Mark. “He agreed to it?” 

“Yeah, he probably doesn’t want to bother you guys anymore.” Mihyun says as she goes to head back into the house. The glass doors are wide open and Mark enters the kitchen to Insook hunched over the counter, kneading what looks like dough in a silver bowl.

She looks up at him with her small beady eyes and then narrows them, “Did you go out there without any sunscreen?” 

“Huh?” Mark dumbly retorts.

The old woman rolls her eyes and then nods towards him. “Your entire face and neck is red.” 

“What?” Mark’s hand flies to his neck. The moment skin touches skin, he flinches. “Mother fu-” He mutters, a stinging pain radiates from the base of his collarbones up to his neck. “It didn’t feel that hot outside.” He mutters under his breath.

Insook rolls her eyes so hard Mark thinks he can almost hear them. “There’s cream in my room, top drawer of the cabinet by the door.”

Mark gives the old woman a sheepish smile. “Thank you.” 

She huffs as Minhyun makes her way around the counter, “Is there anything I can help you with, Ahjumma?” She asks as Mark heads out of the kitchen and towards the stairs. 

There’s the sound of the soft click of a door that comes from above Mark’s head as he climbs the steps, quickly followed by footsteps and the sound of another door shutting. When Mark reaches the landing he sees Jinyoung’s bedroom door wide open, light spilling into the dimly lit corridor. He figures Jinyoung must have gone into the bathroom and heads into Insook’s room.

It’s one of the smaller bedrooms of the house, but still large enough for a double bed to fit, pressed to the side of the room. A chest of drawers, polished but aged into a dark brown, stands guard to the foot of the bed. A smaller one, identical in colour and wood, is snuggled up to the wall right by the door. Upon is it an old lamp, the shade beige and the metal lining rusty. 

Mark pauses in the door frame of the room, feeling slightly intrusive. He’s never entered Insook’s room alone before. There’s an otherworldly feel to it, maybe what is likely of a room that belongs to someone of a different time. It holds an odd sense of nostalgia, a kind bittersweet feeling for something he’s never had an attachment to in the first place.

Mark meekly makes his way to the small cabinet and pulls at the metal handle, all curved and carved with swirls. No one really makes stuff like this anymore, somehow detail giving into simplicity over time. The thought is brief as Mark pulls opens the drawer to trinkets: an ashtray filled with buttons and two round tubs of cream. Mark picks them both up and stares at the labels, one was for wrinkles and the other sunscreen. 

“Is it your habit to snoop in old ladies’ room?” Jinyoung mocks from beside the open door. Mark jumps, startled, grabbing his chest as he shoots him a thin glare. 

“Can you make some noise?” Mark sighs, placing back the anti-wrinkle tub and closing the drawer.

“Why?” Jinyoung half-smirks. “You doing something something you don’t want to get caught over?”

“Yeah, stealing some cream from old ladies is one of my past times.” Mark grumbles, ready to walk out and past Jinyoung to make a some stubborn point but Jinyoung’s walked in and decided to have a tour.

He gives the room a once over, a thoughtful expression on his face. “At what point exactly do you think people get _stuck_ in time?” Jinyoung thinks aloud, gliding a single finger over the top of the large chest of drawers. 

Mark tilts his head and gives the room another look. The walls were plastered with a faded, floral wallpaper, something maybe less out of preference and more for convenience. In fact, the whole room could just have been items that eventually aged alongside Insook. 

“Attachment?” Mark finally offers. “Or maybe clinging to a time that made them happiest?” 

“She doesn’t have pictures.” Jinyoung notes, now standing idle before the desk that’s pressed underneath the window, and beside a blocked off chimney that stuck out of the wall. Knitting needles and a yarn of wool lay sprawled out across the dark wood, colours of peach and white entangled. Chipped bowls filled with needles, fray strings and spare change speckle across the top. To the right is a writing box, the top opened and exposing off-coloured paper and a pencil that looks like it’s been sharpened with a knife. 

Mark’s eyes spread across the room confirming that there wasn’t a single picture. Not even framed paintings or pieces of art. “She doesn’t like them but I don’t know if it’s just because she doesn’t have people to like and picture or she just doesn’t like _pictures_ themselves?” 

Jinyoung looks over his shoulder and gives Mark a quirk of his eyebrow. “I get it.”

“You do?”

Strings play in Jinyoung’s mind, the light seemingly flickering in his pupils with the changing thoughts. With a blink, a conclusion seems to dawn on him and he simply nods. “You ever… loved something so much it made you sad?” 

Mark blinks, “Oh.”

Jinyoung equips a small smile as he gives the scattered items on the desk one last look. He gives the desk a small tap with the tip of his finger and then turns around to look at Mark. Eyes narrowed and observing, his small smile soon gives into a signature smirk. “You were in the sun for too long I guess?”

“You can tell?” Mark sarcastically responds as he turns on his heels. He hears Jinyoung follow him quickly, shutting Insook’s door with a slight bang behind him. The two of them make their way down the hall where Mark makes an unexpected left turn into Jinyoung’s room.

“What’s up?” Jinyoung asks curiously. 

Mark throws the tub of cream onto Jinyoung’s bed, indenting the smooth, laid out duvet and then goes to grab the hem of his shirt, quickly slipping off the piece from over his head. 

“Woah, woah, what’s going on?” Jinyoung flusters. 

Mark looks over his shoulder and raises both eyebrows at Jinyoung, “My skin is red and I’ve got a tub of cream here, what do you think is going on?” He chides. 

A blush resembling sunburn bursts up his neck to the tips of his ears and the ends of his lips quickly drop into a grimace. Mark bites on his lip to keep the small grin on his face from growing into anything more. 

Jinyoung opens his mouth only to quickly clamp it shut. “Sit down.” He says tightly through his lips.

Mark chuckles softly as he climbs on the bed, shuffling to the middle to give space for Jinyoung to sit behind him. The bed creaks with Jinyoung’s weight, Mark doesn’t miss the aggression he uses when he grabs the tub of cream and swivels it open. “Aren’t you supposed to put sunscreen on before you bake yourself in the sun?” Jinyoung bitterly remarks.

“Yeah, I know-” Mark hisses as Jinyoung slaps the cream onto his skin, cool and rough hands moving rapidly over Mark’s back. “Ok, I deserved that a little bit.” Mark clears his throat, breathing deeply through his nose.

“What were you doing outside for so long? I’m pretty sure your skin is going to start peeling tomorrow.” Jinyoung mumbles concerned, his hands now moving at a slower, more gentle pace. 

Mark groans deeply. “I zoned out for a couple of hours I guess.” 

“Zoned out…?” Jinyoung trails off and Mark itches to look over his shoulder to catch his expression but the pain shoots up his neck every time he tries to turn his head. “You were gone for a couple of hours the other night… when we came back from the seaside.” 

Mark stiffens, but not visibly enough for Jinyoung to take notice. He contemplates whether to tell Jinyoung the truth or not.

Something taps upon Mark’s shoulder that feels too heavy to be Jinyoung’s hand. Mark tilts his head to the side a little where Jinyoung’s hair tickles at Mark’s cheek, he has his forehead pressed into the corner of Mark’s neck.

“What’s wrong?” Mark stiffly asks.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Jinyoung retorts, his voice small and brittle. 

Mark doesn’t try to turn around, resigning himself to looking down into his lap. He flicks at his fingernails, scratching at his cuticles and pulling at the skin. “I went to see Youngjae.” He states flatly, and the anxiety that surges with his words bubbles through his veins but soon enough dissipates. 

_Tell the truth. You don’t need to be burdened alone._

The weight of Jinyoung’s head eases off of Mark, leaving his skin sore from the contact. “You haven’t given up.” It wasn’t a question. 

“I can’t.” Mark sighs. 

Jinyoung shifts from behind him, Mark doesn’t know what he’s doing until he flops down to sit crossed legged in front of him. Mark feels like he can’t look up, guilt prickling at his skin, or maybe that was just the sunburn. “Why can’t you?” Jinyoung asks.

“Why do you think?” Mark grumbles, lifting his head up meekly. Their eyes meet and Mark sees the brown colour of Jinyoung’s irises glimmer, wide and shimmering like they held the world in them. Mark holds his breath, thinking about the first time they spoke in the lecture hall all those weeks ago, where his eyes were as black as charcoal, his soul lost. He looks a little content now, like the pieces have finally matched and he’s become _whole_. 

“Honestly, I understand,” Jinyoung nods to himself, looking down briefly into his own lap before he goes to grab Mark’s hands. “But I’m also tired, Mark.” He murmurs, his voice trickling like puddles slipping into cracked pavements. 

It chips away at Mark, the exhaustion in his voice. He couldn’t even begin to imagine even a small fraction of what Jinyoung is going through, but that’s exactly why he couldn’t give up. “There’s still hope.” Mark presses, shutting his eyes tight together because he knew that if Jinyoung pushed enough, he’d give in to giving up. 

An unexpected and thin smile appears on Jinyoung’s face. “There’s always hope,” He says. “But at what point does hope become redundant when you focus on chasing it and end up forgetting everything else?” 

“Don’t say it like that,” Mark mumbles, his head dipping deeper into his lap. 

Jinyoung’s grip on Mark’s hands grows tight, a call for attention. Mark flickers his eyes up to meet Jinyoung’s again, this time they look vulnerable and so open it almost feels intrusive. “I’m scared, Mark.” 

Mark lets out a shaky breath. “So am I-”

“ _No,_ not like that.” Jinyoung shakes his head. “I’m scared that we don’t have long now, I’m scared that we’re going to waste time on something that isn’t definite, that isn’t possible. This is the only life where you know me, where you _really_ know me and I want to cherish it. God knows what’s going to happen in the next. You may never remember this life or Finland, everything may just return to how it was and it scares me. So please, stop.”

Mark wants to argue, wants to find the words, _any_ words to convince Jinyoung that there is a chance they could fix this. But like he said, it was just hope; weightless, bright hope that blinds you and runs through your fingers.

“I won’t tell you to give up completely,” Jinyoung says finally, possibly after seeing the distraught look on Mark’s face. “But just a little, don’t let it distract you so much? Don’t give up your nights for it. And… give me a little more attention, hm?” He says lightly, nudging Mark with his knee. 

A ticklish feeling scratches at Mark’s throat, a feeling between a sob and a sigh. He untangles his fingers from Jinyoung’s and raises his hand to Jinyoung’s face, caressing his cheek with the back of his hand. “I just… care about you.” 

This makes Jinyoung smile wide. “So do I.” He replies sweetly, opening Mark’s hand so he could snuggle his cheek into his palm. “So, what do you say?”

Mark lets out a stubborn breath and gives Jinyoung a weak but definite nod. “I’ll try not to be so… obsessive.” 

Jinyoung snorts at that. “Can’t ask for a better response.” He laughs, the sound vibrating like an echo. Mark loves the sound, like he loves the sound of church bells and the flutter of wings. The type of sounds that carry in the wind. It carries Mark close enough to Jinyoung that he can easily press their lips together, the touch slow but warm, possibly too warm for the level of humidity but it doesn’t stop Mark from bringing the kiss in deeper. 

When they break apart, Mark finds some of the anxiety inside has settled a little, and almost chokes from laughter when he sees Jinyoung’s expectant face, eyes shut and lips pursed. “What, that’s it?” Jinyoung pouts, cracking an eye open.

Mark chuckles and take his hand to ruffle at Jinyoung’s hair, what was once short strands now have given into weight, strands of hair flopping through the gaps of Mark’s fingers. “Your hair’s gotten longer.” 

Jinyoung looks up and shrugs. “I tend to keep it at a decent length, but during the early stages of my… episodes I woke up to a good portion of my hair shaved off so I kind of had to do the rest.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah… thinking about it, I may know who did it now.” Jinyoung grumbles under his breath, a grudging look on his face. 

Mark doesn’t drop his hand, Jinyoung looking resigned to letting him trace all over the edges of his face and neck. Mark has a thumb rubbing against Jinyoung’s cheek when Mihyun’s voice comes hollering from downstairs. “Guys! Food’s ready, come down.” 

“Ooooo, I’m hungry but I also really like this.” Jinyoung grumbles.

Mark rolls his eyes and drops his hand. “Let’s go, you probably haven’t eaten since breakfast.” 

“Yes, sir.” Jinyoung mocks salutes and jumps off the bed, tugging on Mark to follow. 

“By the way, how are your headaches?” Mark asks as he pushes himself off the bed, grabbing his shirt on the way. 

Jinyoung pauses in the door frame and tilts his head to the side. “They’re okay? They come and go. Mihyun says I just need to drink more water.” He shrugs as he makes his way out the room. The dismissive tone to his voice felt forced but Mark doesn’t push it any further. 

He’s about to follow Jinyoung and shut the door behind him, his hand just an inch away from the door knob but something makes him stop mid-step. A sort of grainy sound suddenly weaves its way around Mark, the sound distant and weak. It brings him to a stoney still, unsure of whether this was in his head or not. It eventually grows louder, and soon enough Mark recognises it, the sound of the sand running in the wind. 

_Mark._

A shiver runs down Mark’s spine and grapples at his lungs. The hairs to the back of his neck and down his arm rise and his knees almost buckle in on him. 

A voice so loud and so clear as if someone were in the room with him. A voice thick and coarse like bark echoes but instead of the sound dissipating, it grows stronger and louder. The only person that has ever made Mark feel like this was Barrick, but this voice did not belong to Barrick.

_Mark._

Mark gasps heavily as an intense ache to turn around tenses at his muscles. Her voice, so deep and melodic, almost bewitching. It’s nothing like Barrick’s, Barrick’s which was once demanding and rough, crushing Mark. No, her voice is smooth and thick, her call as heavy as an order. It made Mark want to give in.

Turning around was inevitable but still in the back of his head, he thought that there’d be no one there. He hadn’t actually expected to see her. Her eyes a deep brown, a bright fiery look in them almost enough to distract from the jagged scar across her face, either ends disappearing into her veil. Bright orange tunics hang off her tall frame, the edges embroidered with gold and black patterns. The dark skin of her face and her hands stand out against the brightness of her clothes, and she _glows._

Mark buckles at the sight of her, but more so, at the way she looks at him. The look that belonged to Jinyoung when Hakim was present. A hard look that said these eyes have seen too much and have seen enough, a look that could only belong to someone who has lived for too long. 

“Sadiya.” Mark gasps, his hand tight as it grips the door for support. His heart's beating frantically, his muscles suddenly weak and cold sweat breaks out across his face and neck. He wheezes, his hands flying to his chest as his knees fall to the ground. He knew this feeling. “Is it happening again?” 

_Don’t fight it._ She says, and Mark dares to think he could hear care in her voice. 

“Sadiya.” Mark calls out, his voice now small and weak. Consciousness is slipping away. “Don’t let me die.” He demands, his forehead pressed against the floor. A shadow moves before him, orange silk sliding across the floor. 

_I won’t._ She says, and it’s the last thing he hears before Mark gives into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so so sorry it took so long to update :'( but its only going to be a couple of chapters now till its finished. please stick with me to the end. thank you for reading ~ and thank you again to sam for beta'ing and offering me painful amusement.


	23. whispers of crows

The Arabian Peninsula, _1558_

Magic, Sadiya believed, was something ever present. She did not mean powers of demons or angels, nor did she refer to the hand of God, but magic like oasis’ and feelings. Magic found in things that are beautiful, magic found in things that made her smile, even though she had very little to smile about in that life. She clung to those wisps of magic and collected them, revisiting them through memories when she felt like she was losing grip.

She visited them now, in the back of the carriage where the wheels dug softly into the sand below, the only sounds to be heard are the huffs of the camel and the night of the desert. Sweat had settled on her brow and the back of her neck was drenched, her coarse hair damp and frizzy. It was hot that night, hotter than usual, and it made sleeping difficult. 

Not that Sadiya was very fond of sleeping these days. Nightmares and crows had been following her, to which she’d more than gladly reduce to superstition, but things were odd in the deserts. She’d overheard the conversations Hakim had with fellow travellers and traders, talks of demons rising to the surface. 

Rumours across the trade route were unreliable, especially since a majority of them network through entertainment rings, the truth eventually manifesting into stories. However, Sadiya hadn’t been able to brush it off as she once would have, it’s a creeping feeling like a scorpion burrowing itself from under the sand. Hakim pretended he was unbothered by it, but Sadiya sensed the tightness in his smile. He’d also been travelling longer into the night than he should be, both him and the camel in need of rest. 

Sadiya slipped off her silk cover and sat up. Her bed was a large, wooden chest containing a clutter of items that were either unsold and had lost their value, or simple keepsakes. The inside of the carriage was rather identical; the ceiling and walls were crowded with ornaments and decorations, pieces of art and culture filling every space of this wooden box. Items that belonged to the peninsula and items that did not belong surrounded Sadiya. There were things she was familiar with but mostly, they were all foreign to her. Even the wagon itself did not belong to the desert. 

A sudden bump slightly jolts the carriage to the side, the sound of metal hitting metal and jingling erupted all around. The pillow Sadiya had been settled on slipped and fell to the ground by her bare feet. She went to pick it up, the silk of it smooth and comforting in her hand. Placing it on her lap, she traced the stitches embedded into a picture. When Sadiya first started travelling with Hakim she had to stay hidden inside the carriage during the day, and as much of the world you could find in this small secluded place, there weren’t many things to do. Knowing this, during one of their stops at a night market, Hakim had bought Sadiya needles, silk, and a box of thread that contained so much colour she’d almost cried. He’d remembered her small stories about when she’d spend most her pass time helping her mother stitch and mend clothes for her brothers. 

The first thing she had stitched was that pillow. Starting off with a layer of gold silk, the first image that came to mind was her in the desert, her body curled into the sand as if she were simply sleeping. In the distance is a camel pulling a carriage, being led by a man covered up with only his eyes exposed. She looks down at the pillow, a small smile on her face, her fingers tracing the small stitches that made up Hakim. 

There’s another bump then, this time harder and followed by the low groan of the camel. “ _Come on, big guy._ ” She heard Hakim murmur softly. 

Sadiya gathered up the bottom of her tunic and hiked it up just above her knees so she could squeeze through the tight spaces of the carriage freely. She made her way to the front where there was a small open window curtained with a single red cloth. She climbed and kneeled onto some piled crates so her head just met the opening and then brushed the fabric aside. 

The desert was colder at night and what was once a land so blindingly bright had settled into the dark, the sand now looking pale against the night sky. Sadiya looked over Hakim’s shoulder where the camel was hunched over in fatigue, or thirst, most likely both. She grimaced at the sight of the two of them, “ _Hakim, he’s tired.”_

Hakim turned his head slightly to the right, “ _You’re awake?_ ” 

“ _You should be asleep and he needs to rest._ ” She demanded, her voice scolding. 

“ _Just a little while longer, Sadiya._ ” He replied weakly. Sadiya’s grimace fell deeper, she could hear the hint of worry that laced itself with the exhaustion in his voice. 

“ _What has you like this?_ ” 

“ _I’m simply tired. I’ve had trouble sleeping._ ” He said, a lie so transparent she could barely push any further. 

“ _Well, we can have trouble sleeping together so why don’t you let the poor boy rest already._ ” Sadiya said, and they both knew her words were final. 

She watched Hakim as he pulled at the reigns, the camel coming to an immediate stop, more than ready to give into exhaustion and settle down into the ground. Sadiya let the curtain flow shut and moved off the crates. She heard Hakim shuffle outside, whispering apologies to the animal before dropping into the sand. 

She tapped away at her tunic, quickly ironing out the crumpled mess and shuffled her way back to her bed. The door to the back of the wagon was stiff when Hakim yanked at it, the hinges stubborn and sore. With one rough pull, it swung open to reveal Hakim, his own veil rumpled around his neck and showing his angular face. His jaw was wide but was complementary to his shoulders. His skin, naturally brown, had grown darker as he said it would during this time of year, to which he looked as if he’d simply meld into the night. Sadiya watched him as he went to grab at the frame of the wagon and jolted himself up into the opening, hopping inside with ease. 

“ _What did I say about travelling in the night, Hakim?_ ” Sadiya started, her hands crossed across her chest. 

Hakim gave her a tired smile, and made his way to the small gap in the floor he’d call his bed. “ _It hasn’t been long since the moon has risen. You worry too much._ ” He said carefully, as he picked up his bedding made up of thick blankets and a cushion much like Sadiya’s. 

“ _I’m clearly not the one worrying._ ” Sadiya said softly. “ _Do you not wish to talk about it?_ ” 

“ _There’s simply nothing to talk about, my dear._ ” He replied as he settled the blankets onto the floor, snuggling up tight between crates and several decorative ornaments, two vases dangerously close to his face. 

“ _Then why can you not sleep?_ ” She pushed, stubborn to get him to talk. It frustrated her, this part of him that hid behind a constant smile. He was a man that cared too much and felt too much. It was what she loved most about him, but it was also what put him on guard. Being vulnerable meant taking more precautions. Sadiya just wished he didn’t have to take precautions with her. 

Hakim looked at her, his eyes wide and bright in the darkness of the wagon. They fluttered in thought before he finally decided to reply. “ _I’m having nightmares, is all. They’re nothing serious, but not pleasant either._ ” 

“ _So am I._ ” She admitted, shuffling her knees up so she can prop her chin on them. 

Hakim flickered his eyes between her and the ceiling. “ _What are they of?_ ” 

“ _My family…_ ” Sadiya said as she wrapped her hands around her legs. That creeping feeling was making it’s way back under her skin, the kind of feeling that made her want to fold into a ball and cry. “ _They’re always screaming… dying…_ ” She mumbled into the silk of her clothes, her words muffled. 

Silence followed as Sadiya balled up into herself. The darkness had begun to scare her, every time she closed her eyes the images would burst behind her eyelids. Her nightmares followed her out of her slumber and stalked her alongside the whispers and the crows. 

She flinched slightly as something grabbed her hand, looking up between her knees to find Hakim kneeling before her. He unwinded her fingers from her legs and slipped his hand between hers in comfort. “ _They are just dreams, Sadiya._ ” 

“ _I know, but I can’t help but feel like there is more to them._ ” She whispered, her lip curled in a sob that fought its way up her throat. 

“ _You’ve been listening to the stories of the travellers,_ ” He noted, his dark eyebrows knitting together in the middle. He took his hand to her face and stroked her cheek. “ _There’s no such thing as demons._ ” 

“ _How can you be so sure?_ ” Sadiya mumbled. 

Something flickered in Hakim’s eyes and his lack of response said enough. They sat still in the silence for a moment, their hands interlocked. Hakim drawing circles to the back of Sadiya’s hand whilst she traced the lines of his face. There was a darkness to him these days, his eyes heavy and his lips unnaturally turned down. It made the pits of her stomach swirl with fear. 

“ _What have you been dreaming about?_ ” She asked quietly, silently hoping he won’t evade her question. 

Hakim didn’t look up at her, his eyes still looking down to their hands. She thought he wasn’t going to reply. Then he breathed in through his nose and let out a big sigh, looking up at her with his eyebrows drooping at the ends. “ _Fire… so much fire._ ” He muttered. “ _The crackle of flames so loud I would think they were screams._ ” 

Sadiya took her free hand and settled it above his head, his hair short and tight in curls that were so soft under her palm. There were no words that could cure them of the torture that haunted their minds, but there was a comfort in the fact they were not alone. Settled together between crates of priceless items that seem like nothing in comparison to each other, they stayed like that, intertwined for a long time. Nothing but their breaths could be heard in the vastness of the desert, alongside the distant echo of a crow squawking. 

*

Seoul, _2016_

Mark has been in and out of sleep. Sometimes he wakes up screaming, sometimes he’s in pain but he’s always crying. He’d seen Jinyoung only once, his face rigid with a frown. One time he simply awoke to the ceiling, all alone and in pain. Most of the time there’d be Insook, her face still and wrinkly, simply comforting him with her presence. He thinks he’d heard Mihyun’s voice at some point, worried and frantic. Consciousness was a frayed rope. Every time he grabbed it, it’d undo itself in his hand. 

_Barrick, help me._ Mark would beg but the voices in his head were tangled, echoes lost in echoes, all morphed and twisted . He couldn’t tell the difference between his own cries, the ghosts in his mind, and the people around him. 

Images swarmed him in fragments, broken memories piecing themselves into his mind, bumping and scratching against his own along the way. Sadiya had said not to fight it but it seems his body was rejecting it on its own. 

He’s glad at least the pain means he isn’t dead. _Jinyoung is still safe._

When Mark finally wakes up, he finds himself in the comforts of his own bed. When he moves, his body is stiff and his muscles ache. The inside of his mouth is dry and sticky, his eyelids heavy. He wonders just how long he’s been asleep for.

 _Three days._ A voice responds. Mark jumps upright, his head spinning across the room until they land on Sadiya, settled upon his desk, her feet up on his chair. The gold silk of her tunics sprawl across the piece of furniture, and the veil that was once covering the majority of her face is now settled around her neck. 

“Sadiya?” Mark gasps, he blinks furiously and even tries to rub his eyes but every time he looks over to his desk she’s still there. “This is weird.” 

She raises a thick eyebrow at him, a thin smirk carving into her cheeks. She has a slim face and her eyes arch upwards at the ends. From this distance her eyes almost look hazel. _Honestly, I was kind of worried. Thought I lost you on day two._

“What?” He squeaks. Mark sits uncomfortable in his bed, his eyes scanning the rest of the room-

_He’s not here._

“Huh?” 

Sadiya sighs and moves herself off the desk, settling on bare feet and leaning back with her hands crossed over her chest. _Barrick agreed to give us some space._

“You didn’t swallow him up or something, right?” Mark asks, worried.

 _Swallowed? I’m not a demon, Mark. He’s just settled back a little. If you’re that worried I can call him back?_ She offers, the nonchalance in her voice tells Mark that maybe he shouldn’t be too worried.

“What’s going on? How are you here? How is this possible?” Mark mumbles frantically, crawling to sit up on his knees, his hands clutching the covers with anxiety. 

She looks up to the side in thought, her jaw sharp at the angle. With a flicker of her wrist, she looks at Mark and shrugs. _It was a bit too much effort on my part but after Japan I managed to slip in with Barrick. It’s just taken me some time to gather the strength, since I’ve been floating aimlessly for far too long._ She sighs and pushes herself up from the desk, her tunic gliding at the back of her feet, the gold of the fabric bright against the dull grey carpet. 

“Why?” Mark breathes.

Sadiya looks over her shoulder, _Why what?_

“Why did you have to push through?” Mark asks, licking his lips. He was parched, his throat like sandpaper every time he swallowed. 

She looks down to the ground before turning around to face the window. She takes her hand and reaches out to the glass, her tanned, thin arm revealing itself as her tunic rides up. _It’s been awhile since I’ve used my voice._ She says wistfully and then turns back to look at Mark. _Is it so bad to crave life? Crave connection? I simply saw a way out and I pushed._

Mark narrows his eyes at her, trying to grasp at the link between them but she feels distant and faded. She feels like she’ll disappear any second. 

_It’ll come to you soon._ She says, moving her way towards him. She looks like she’s floating, her feet lost in her garments. Mark holds his breath, a mix of fear and awe drowning out his insides. Barrick felt human, a ghost maybe, but very human. Sadiya, on the other hand, felt like a legend come to life. She felt like magic. 

“I have questions-” Mark starts but she puts out a palm to stop him.

 _I know. But I am still not strong enough to show myself like this for too long._ She says, looking down at her own hand. _I will answer your questions, Mark, but I need you to do something._

“What?”

She looks up from her hands with a hard stare. _Do not tell Jinyoung I’m here. Hakim cannot know even though I fear he may have already sensed it._

“W-what why? I thought you’d be happy to see each other?” 

Sadness shrouds her in that moment, Mark can taste it on his tongue. _Things aren’t so simple._ She says in a sigh and then looks up to stare at the door. 

She gives Mark a tilt of her head and in the next second the bedroom door swings open. “Ahjumma, I already took the meat out of the freezer ages ago, stop worrying… how can you not trust me after all this time?” Mihyun huffs into the phone that’s tucked between her ear and her shoulder, in her hand is a large bowl with a towel draped over its edge. “Ok… bye… bye… Jesus,” She huffs, completely walking by Mark and settling the bowl onto the desk. With her back to Mark, she takes the phone and drops it onto the desk. “Fuck, how do I defrost the meat now?” 

Mark sits still, watching Mihyun. “Hairdryer? Boiling water?” She mumbles to herself and then turns around on her heels, making her way to the door before her eyes brush over Mark and she screams. “Oh my god!” She squawks, clattering back onto the desk. 

“Hi,” Mark lifts up a palm.

“Professor!?” Mihyun gasps and crumbles to the floor. “Jesus Christ.” She mumbles and crawls her way to the edge of the bed to grab desperately to Mark’s covers. “You’re awake?” She says, her face dug into the mattress. 

Mark holds back a laugh and goes to pet her softly to the top of her head. “I’m awake.” 

She pokes her head up, revealing her red eyes. “You _really, really_ need to stop passing out on us, Professor. I don’t think my heart can take it.” She mumbles, her shoulders shaking.

“I’m sorry, but I’m okay.” Mark says but it doesn’t sound very convincing. “Where’s-”

“Mihyun?” Jinyoung’s voice bursts from down the hall. Mihyun pops up and rubs at her face quickly before pushing herself to her feet. The both of them stare at the door until Jinyoung appears. “What’s going on-” His eyes immediately fall on Mark. “Professor?” 

“Morning?” Mark grins sheepishly. 

Jinyoung’s face drops into a scowl, “You look like you got a good rest.” 

“I feel a bit shit to be honest.” Mark says, rubbing at his stomach. “And hungry.” 

Mihyun looks between the two, clearly not understand the exchange that they were having. “I-I’ll get you some water and food- I need to defrost the meat before Ahjumma kills me too.” Mihyun says hurriedly. “Tell me if you need anything, okay, Professor? I still think we should call a doctor.” Mihyun says pointedly to Jinyoung as she passes him.

Jinyoung doesn’t respond to her, his eyes firmly glued onto Mark. When Mihyun leaves the room, Jinyoung finally moves and goes to sit on the bed. He sits at the far corner, possibly the furthest he could be from Mark. “What was that about a doctor?” Mark asks out of discomfort, he wasn’t sure what mood Jinyoung was in. To be honest, Mark’s a little disappointed, he expected Jinyoung to practically fly to him the moment he saw him awake. 

“Ah… Mihyun insisted on sending you to a hospital but I told her not to.” Jinyoung vaguely responds, his voice flat. He has his back to Mark, and this whole situation is making him itch.

“I see,” Mark mutters, unsure of what to say next. “Jinyoung?”

“Hmm?” 

“Are you alright?” Mark asks. 

Jinyoung shifts to look at Mark, his jaw set hard, the back of his teeth grinding against each other. “‘ _Am I alright?_ ’” He forces the words through his teeth. “You’ve been screaming and crying for three days straight, Professor. But you’re asking if I’m alright?”

Mark is slightly taken back, “I’m fine, Jinyoung.” 

“I can see that.” Jinyoung retorts sharply. “When I found you on the ground I wanted to send you to a hospital straight away, or at least bring a doctor but… they all told me to calm down.”

“They?”

Jinyoung taps at his temple, “They said you would be fine, and that’d you wake up soon. Although soon isn’t exactly three days but at least they were right.” He sighs and shifts off the bed, rubbing his hands together. 

Mark watches him carefully. The dark circles under his eyes were more apparent than ever and if Mark’s memories serve him right, Jinyoung is in the same clothes he was wearing three days ago. Mark takes in a deep breath. “Jinyoung… come sit.” He says, tapping at the space beside him.

Jinyoung stares down at him with narrowed eyes, and he really looks like he’s about to reject Mark’s request but he eventually moves and places himself where Mark’s hand was. “What?” He punches out the word. 

Mark shuffles up close to Jinyoung and puts his hand over his, Jinyoung’s hand is limp against Mark but that doesn’t stop him from lacing their fingers together. “I’m sorry.” He says quietly, his thumb tracing circles to the back of Jinyoung’s hand.

There’s no response for a while, but eventually the tension in Jinyoung slips out with a sigh and he tilts his head to give Mark a sad expression. “Why are you apologising?” 

“I worried you.” Mark says. “I don’t know how I’d react if it was you.”

“What happened, Mark?” Jinyoung mutters, his eyes low. “I thought you were going to die again.”

 _Don’t tell him, Mark._ Sadiya’s voice is a faint whisper in the back of Mark’s head. 

“It was Barrick,” Mark lies, and internally apologies to both Barrick and Jinyoung. 

Confusion veils Jinyoung’s face, “What? Is he still trying to push through?” 

“No, no, it seems he’s still… having a hard time adjusting. You know, he’s been fighting his way through for so many years now for a fruitless revenge. He isn’t taking it well.” Mark explains, the words coming out of his mouth with ease.

“He should stop being a bitch about it-” Jinyoung slaps his hand to his mouth. “Sorry, that was a bit of Henrikka there.” 

Mark chuckles and takes a hand to wrap around Jinyoung’s neck, half hugging him. “Sorry.” He murmurs into Jinyoung’s hair and then stiffens. He takes a sniff and then inches back. “I didn’t want to mention it but… have you showered at all these last few days?” 

Jinyoung blinks up at him and then flies backwards, “I-I completely forgot. I was...just constantly thinking-” Jinyoung looks down and tugs on his shirt. “How long have I been in these?” He mumbles to himself. 

“We’re both in need of a shower, I feel sticky.” Mark says, itching to just rip his clothes off.

Jinyoung grins wide, “Wanna go in together?”

Mark gives him a deadpan look just as Mihyun returns with one eye shut and a cup of water. “Why are you looking like you’re about to get slapped?” Jinyoung asks from his corner of the bed.

Mihyun turns to face them and creaks her eye open, “Oh.” She simply says before relaxing. “Thought I was going to be interrupting something.”

Mark stiffens and Jinyoung raises an eyebrow, “What could you possibly be interrupting?”

Mihyun locks into place, her hand clasped around the cup. Her mouth hangs open, “Uh…” There’s the sudden sound of the front door opening downstairs then, and Mihyun quickly goes to push the cup into Mark’s hand. “Oh, Ahjumma’s here. Pray for me, I haven’t defrosted the meat.” She says quickly before dashing back out the room. 

The two of them watch her until the last wisp of hair disappears behind the door frame. “Think she knows?” Mark asks, even though he already knew the answer.

Jinyoung snorts hard, “She definitely knows.” 

Marks gives Jinyoung a flat look. 

Jinyoung’s smile slightly drops. “What? Did you want to keep it a secret or something?”

“That’s not it…” Mark trails off. “It’s just… to us we have context, a lot of context, but to others we’re just professor and student.” 

“Maybe,” Jinyoung says and shuffles closer to Mark. “But I don’t care what other people think. Besides, these days they can’t do much but talk. Also, Mihyun isn’t much of a problem.”

“I know she isn’t,” Mark says and tilts his head to Jinyoung. “She’s a special one.”

“She is.” Jinyoung mumbles, a hand pinching at the bridge of his nose. 

“What’s wrong?” Mark asks settling a comforting hand to the back of Jinyoung’s exposed neck. 

“Nothing,” Jinyoung mumbles. “My head just hurts a little.”

This doesn’t sit well with Mark at all. “What? Your head still hurts? It’s been over four days now.” 

Jinyoung lifts his head up and slides Mark’s hand away. “Don’t worry about me, I’m just coming down with a cold or something. You, on the other hand, I’m going to have eyes on you, 24/7.” Jinyoung says finally, getting up to his feet.

“Jinyoung, I’m fine. This won’t happen again but-”

“How can you be so sure?” Jinyoung interjects, a disapproving look on his face. “Barrick clearly hasn’t settled and I don’t want to risk anything.” 

Mark can’t say anything back to that, the promise to Sadiya already restricting him. He’d finally decided to be honest with Jinyoung, so Sadiya better have a good explanation for why he’s got to keep secrets all over again. 

“Mark. You’re awake?” Insook’s voice is small when it comes from the open door.

Mark turns to look over his shoulder and finds Insook in a short sleeved button up top tucked neatly into a long pair of wide legged bottoms. A plastic carrier bag hangs off her wrist and she has a pair of sunglasses tucked upon her head, brushing back the fine grey hairs. 

“Ahjumma.” Mark calls out warmly. “I’m awake.” 

“How are you, boy?” She asks. She makes her way into the room, holding the small of her back. 

“I’m fine, but what’s wrong with your back?” Mark asks, shuffling up on the bed so she could sit beside him.

“Nothing, just stretched it whilst I was in the garden the other day.” She brushes it off as she sits onto the bed eagerly.

“Ahjumma, it’s good you’re here. I need to go shower so keep an eye on him.” Jinyoung instructs, and it earns him a fine glare from both Mark and Insook. 

“Is he a dog?” Insook retorts.

“Yeah? I told you I was fine.” Mark insists. 

Jinyoung gives Mark a look of disbelief and then quickly washes it away with a smile as he looks back to Insook, “Please, Ahjumma? You’ve been looking after him the last few days now, it’s nothing much, right?” He say cheekily before skidding his way out of the room, leaving no space for either of the two to make another comment.

Insook goes to the carrier bag now settled beside her on the bed and digs out two brown bags. She hands one to Mark, and from the heat radiating from it, Mark instantly knows what is in it. He gleefully dives into the bag and pulls out a steaming bun, the white dough soft and warm in his hands. 

“I don’t know if it’s a coincidence, or if I’m just lucky that I woke up in time for these.” Mark says happily and doesn’t waste another second before he digs his teeth into it. 

“I had walked past a stall on the way home,” Insook says, picking at the dough with her fingers and putting it into her mouth. “I’d thought of you, I had a feeling you were going to wake up soon.”

Mark swallows down a quick bite and nudges the old woman from the side, “Thank you for looking after me, I saw your face a lot of the time.” 

“I did nothing,” She says, staring down at the bun. “I do not ask questions often Mark, I’m not that curious but I have to ask, are you alright?” She asks this softly, a careful tone to her voice. It’s something Mark has never heard come from her before, but it’s not entirely surprising either. Whether it’d be Jinyoung’s drama, the earthquakes, or the vague and confusing conversations, Insook had always simply settled into the background. She spoke when she knew she was needed, and acted silently, but most importantly, she was always there.

“I’m alright, Ahjumma,” Mark says wholeheartedly. “I’m sorry I can’t explain everything to you, but it’s all alright. Everything is alright.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” She nods, giving Mark’s knee a soft tap. “But it’s that boy, Jinyoung, that worries me sometimes.”

“What do you mean?” 

“He keeps a lot of things to himself.” Insook says notedly. “I haven’t said anything since it isn’t my business, but he’s been taking a lot of medication, painkillers I suppose.”

“He has been complaining about headaches…” Mark mumbles. “How has he been while I was out?” 

“He’s been sleeping a lot often and for longer,” She explains, shuffling her bun back into the brown bag. She wraps the top up and places it back into the carrier bag. “But he sleeps in silence.” In hindsight, what she said shouldn’t have worried Mark to that extent. He hadn’t thought about it but it makes sense that she could hear Jinyoung in the night too, when his nightmares and memories ran rampant. He wonders now that the memories have settled for good, it’d mean less of a torture for him. If Mark had felt just a fraction of what Jinyoung was feeling for the last year then maybe he’s just finally calmed down. The reasoning however doesn’t seem to ease Mark’s worries. 

“Thanks for telling me Ahjumma, seriously, thank you for everything.” Mark says, licking his lips. Even though the hunger is excruciating as he stares down at the pathetic first bite he took of his bun, he couldn’t find the will to continue eating.

“Eat, Mark. I’m going to go make dinner so at least that’ll help ‘til I’m done.” She pushes with a rub of his shoulder and gets up to her feet. “I bet that girl hadn’t taken the meat out of the freezer.” She murmurs under her breath as she heads for the door.

Mark chuckles, “Don’t nag at her too much.” 

Insook looks over her shoulder and gives Mark a tut. Her face changes quickly then, “You laugh more these days.”

“What?” Mark blinks.

Insook scratches at her neck, her fingers pinching at the loose skin as she wonders whether she should continue talking. “There are things stressing you, I’m aware, but I have not seen you smile or laugh as often as you have these last few weeks. It’s a pleasant sight.”

Mark rubs at his face consciously, “I didn’t realise.” 

There’s a small smile on Insook’s face, hidden in the wrinkles. “My husband used to say this all the time; that sadness comes in like a flood, it makes you feel numb and suffocated, some days you can’t move and other days you want to destroy everything. But happiness and being content is harder to notice, because you simply feel... right.”

Mark tugs on his earlobe and gives out a little laugh, “I used to think happiness was just the absence of sadness.” 

Insook gives him a look of understanding before finally turning to leave the room. Mark sits on the edge of his bed, his hands clutched together. He realises then that that was the first time Insook has ever spoke about her husband. Mark was once okay with the very shallow relationship they used to have, more inclined to keeping to himself, as he assumed Insook did as well. He supposes, however, that that wasn’t the case at all for either them.

There’s a breeze then, it tastes of heat and gravel. It’s peculiar and unnatural because the only window in the room is shut and the humidity in the room is thick. It comes with that same grainy sound, the sound of sand flowing in the wind. This time, however, fear doesn’t swell up in Mark’s lungs and his body doesn’t give into itself as if his muscles had turned to lead. Familiarity and nostalgia washes up on him like sea foam on beaches and the morning sun slipping between curtains. 

Mark stares down at the orange tunic, snuggled around her ankles, her bare feet tickling the carpet. Mark’s eyes trace up her body, lost in the layers of silk. She’s taller than he expected, possibly just a few inches shorter than Mark himself. When she turns her face to stare at him, her big brown eyes meeting with his own, a feeling surges through his body. An overwhelming feeling stuck between love and respect, the kind of feeling Mark had for his father. 

It’s that smile however, that thin but bright smile that encompasses her face and presses into the ends of her eyes that has his heart sinking. He watches her as she glides back to the desk, settling back into the wood with ease. _So, where were we?_ She says, her voice deep and rough, and so vivid as if she’d spoken the words into the air but Mark knows it’s just in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this was a bit of a filler chapter ;; but chapters will roll out faster now (i say but theres like two or three chapters left)  
> thank you again for sam who is busy as hale and still finding the time to beta for my rushy ass <3


	24. hollow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this listening to novo amor ~

Seoul, _2016_

After taking a shower, Mark leaves the bathroom to find the house settled in a comfortable but unknown silence. He decides to scope the halls and rooms, finding Jinyoung asleep in his bed, the thick duvet up over his head. He looks like a ball of cotton, rising and falling with every breath he takes. Mark wants to slide in and take a peek at his face but he decides to leave him alone to what seemed like a rare blissful sleep.

In the kitchen, Mark finds a note on the counter telling him Insook and Mihyun have gone out to buy some groceries. He can tell Mihyun wrote it because it’s signed off with a wink face. It makes him smile as he ruffles the towel over his head, brushing at wet strands as he places the note back onto the counter. 

A look towards the kitchen glass doors leads him to Sadiya crouching in the garden, her golden tunics scrunched up to her thighs and her arms rolled up to her shoulder. Her limbs are long but not particularly thin like he’d expected, there’s a substantial amount of muscle to them, something that maybe comes out of doing a lot of labour.

Mark makes his way towards her as she pokes and prods at the flowers in the soil. “ _It’s like sand but it’s not._ ” She says simply, peering down curiously at the flower beds.

“You’ve never seen soil before?” Mark asks, he lets the towel drape around his neck as he squats down beside her.

“ _I’ve seen it, I’ve just never felt it._ ” She gives him a look from the side, the sunlight hitting her eyes in a way that makes them come off green. “ _That’s the difference between watching over you and being with you. Between you remembering us or not._ ”

“You can feel what I feel? Like I’m a bridge to the physical world for you guys?” Mark guesses, and it earns him a small smile from her. 

“ _Yes._ ” She nods, her hand skimming the surface of the soil and travelling up the stem of a flower, petals small but bright, orange speckled on white. “ _It’s been a long time since I felt just how delicate flowers are._ ” 

Mark stares at her hand. “Delicate just means they don’t last…” He murmurs under his breath. 

Sadiya snorts, “ _That is where you are wrong. They are by far the most resilient. Do you know what was the first thing to grow out from the atomic bomb in Hiroshima, Mark?_ ”

Mark raises an eyebrow at her, “Grow?” 

She gives him a faint nod over the shoulder and a long finger pointing towards the hanging flower pot just beside the garden doors. “ _The oleander flower was the first thing to grow out of the scorched land._ ” 

Mark blinks fast, staring up at those flowers that looked so small and frail. Petals as thin as layers of skin, and stems long and thin like legs of a cricket. “Those grew out from an atomic bomb?” He asks in disbelief. 

“ _It seems impossible but I guess you all rely on the… weight of things too much, placing so much importance on mass you’re obviously only going to get disappointed in the end._ ” She tuts. “ _Flowers may seem weak, but they survive. You cut them of their roots but still they flourish besides your ill, they put smiles on your children, they feed and help animals. Nature. It’s what keeps this planet alive. Despite all this… you render them to simple, frail, pretty things._ ” She says the last sentence with a click of her tongue, as if she were plucking the words out bit by bit. There’s no smile on her face now as she stares deeply into the bed of flowers as if she could see the world, and it would seem she did not like it at all. 

Mark isn’t exactly sure what to say. He could sense that there is an underlying meaning to her words, but it could easily just be her playing mind games too. He may know the Sadiya back when she was a girl travelling the desert but he doesn’t know the Sadiya now.

She sighs then, pushing herself back up to her feet. “ _I know you have questions, Mark. I’m not here to be some saviour though, if that’s what you’re wondering._ ”

“Then why are you here?” Mark asks, following her up as she starts to wonder lightly around the garden.

“ _Is that really what you want to know?_ ”

“No lies, Sadiya.” Mark demands. “After Barrick, I don’t know what any of you could do.” 

She looks over her shoulder at that and gives Mark a thoughtful blink. “ _I don’t want anything in particular._ ” Sadiya said. “ _I just got fed up of watching from the sidelines. If I were to be stuck in this infinite cycle, I’d rather feel it, experience it and then succumb to silent observation. Being cooped up isn’t something I particularly like the taste of._ ” 

Mark watches her skeptically, her hands knotted behind her nonchalantly as she swirls on the balls of her feet. “You don’t even want to meet Hakim?” 

“ _Hakim…_ ” She sighs the name. “ _I’ve had centuries of loving him, hating him, understanding him and cursing him. There’s nothing left but what he’s placed upon me, an eternity of no peace._ ” 

Mark flinches a little at her words, he didn’t expect this. He didn’t expect her indifference. In some odd, roundabout way it hurt him, as if somehow it made everything… _pointless_.

“ _Isn’t it about time you ask the real questions, Mark?_ ” 

“Why don’t you just give me the answers?” He retorts.

She smirks as she hops onto the bricks that border the flower beds, “ _Where’s the fun in that?_ ” 

“Is this a _game_ to you?” Mark exasperates. 

“ _To me?_ ” She perks at the question. “ _You’re the one that’s made life a game, made life… pointless. You experienced death, you experienced life before you lived it and yet you decided it wasn’t worth it. Hollow… and pointless. That’s who you are Mark._ ”

“This isn’t about me-”

“ _Isn’t it?_ ” She laughs lightly, bitterly. It crawls under Mark’s skin. “ _Who are you? Who do you love? Do you love Jinyoung because you think you’re meant to? Have you ever lived for yourself? Have you ever thought about yourself?_ ” 

Mark bites his lip, his jaw tight and lodged in place. She’s playing him, pulling at chords and strings like an instrument she knew too well. “What are you getting out of this?”

“ _You irritate me, Mark._ ” She says flatly, tip toeing her way around the flowers and hopping over brushes that spilled over onto the ground like a waterfall of leaves, pooling onto the pebble path. “ _You were the first among my reincarnations to remember and I was disappointed to find that instead of flourishing, instead of living in worlds you could never touch again, you hid them away and you pushed them away-_ ”

Mark scoffs, “Are you kidding me?”

Sadiya raises an eyebrow, “ _Am I wrong? You’re like… a puppet._ ”

“ _A puppet?_ ” Mark echoes, breathing air finely through his nose. 

“ _I’ve seen you with Jinyoung. When you kiss him or hold him, you always have this… empty look like you’re forcing yourself. It makes me itch._ ” She contorts her face and makes a _yuck_ sound. 

“What would you know about me and Jinyou-”

“ _I think the better question here is what wouldn’t I know, don’t you think?_ ” She throws back, the tone in her voice makes Mark involuntary clench his fists. “ _What is it, Mark? You feel obligated because of Barrick? Feel pity for Jinyoung? Both?_ ”

“Stop.”

“ _Or are you just kidding yourself? You want to feel something? Fool yourself in thinking you can have a normal life after all? What is it you want in the end? Because-_ ” 

“What would you know!?” Mark shouts, Sadiya’s mouth clamping shut. “What would any of you know about how I feel? You think you can understand because you’re connected to me, because I’m your reincarnation? You just see what you want, you’re just like everyone else- you fill in the spaces I won’t fill in myself for you and you assume, assume, and _assume_.” Mark breathes heavily, his lungs expanding painfully in his chest, his breath irregular like he’d just done a sprint. 

Sadiya is fully facing him now, her expression monotone while Mark could barely contain the twitches in his. “ _You’re afraid of feeling so you push it down._ ”

Mark lets out a broken breath, tears accumulating in his eyes. “When feeling only hurts you, why would you want to feel anything at all?”

“ _It’s what makes us human._ ”

“And I hate it.” Mark admits. He lets the weakness grow, eat at his insides and sink into his bones. It brings him to the ground, his palms to the pebble rocks, rubble embedded into his skin. “You, Barrick, and even Jinyoung, you all think my feelings for him aren’t… _mine._ I suppose I thought so too at some point, or maybe it was just easier to brush it away but you don’t see it.” 

Sadiya gives her head a tilt, looking down at Mark from where she is, tall and long, the sun haloing her head. Mark squints as he looks up at her. “ _See what?_ ”

“See him when you close your eyes.” Mark whispers and lets his eyelids flutter shut. “But I see him. I see him in everything. Since the moment he walked into that lecture hall, all I could see was him.” 

He still remembers Jinyoung so vividly. His eyes immediately drawn to him like a ghost had just wandered into the hall, he stood to the back, darkness spilling from him. He was haunting and beautiful. 

“ _I see._ ” She says. “ _Well I guess that’s that._ ” 

Mark coughs, “What?”

“ _Now, listen. Quick._ ” She says hurriedly, squatting down in front of Mark. She leans in close, her brown eyes large, eyes that glimmered like sun on water and light against scales. “ _There’s just two things you need to know when it comes down to it._ ”

Mark’s eyebrows knit together in the middle. The tears stayed stuck in his eyes as confusion quickly overtook him. “T-two things?”

Sadiya nods eagerly, bouncing a little on her heels. “ _One is that by your theory we definitely have a wish or two, none of the reincarnations before you were ever aware to do anything._ ”

“W-we have a wish?” Mark brushes a hand through his hair and sucks in a deep breath. “But I’ve been wishing and it hasn’t been working.”

Sadiya rolls her eyes and jumps back onto her feet. “ _Yeah, well, the answer to that was in front of you and Youngjae this whole time but you were all swept up in yourselves to even realise it._ ”

“Realise what?”

“ _Jinn’s don’t grant wishes, genius._ ” She says frustratingly with a wave of her hands. “ _What got us all here in this stupid circle in the first place? Hakim. Youngjae. They all gave up something…_ ”

“ _...they all made deals._ ” Mark finishes, realisation dawning upon him. 

Sadiya grins wide, “ _Now it’s our turn._ ”

Mark scrambles up to his feet. “We make a deal, we make a deal with them. Just like Hakim.” 

“ _Just like Hakim._ ” Sadiya sounds a little sad as she says it but it isn’t dwelt upon for long before she’s clapping and speaking again. “ _Okay, so this second thing is a little urgent._ ”

“What is it?”

“ _It’s Jinyoung._ ” 

Dread hits Mark’s chest like a bat to a ball. “What about him?”

“ _He’s sort of dying._ ” She says quickly, both palms out as if it’d lessen the blow of the words.

Mark looks up urgently to the top of the house, “What do you mean? He’s fine- he’s been sleeping.”

“ _Well, you see... it’s been going on for a bit._ ” She says vaguely.

“What are you talking about?” 

Sadiya licks her lips, her eyes swirling around the place as if the words were hidden in the budding flowers. “ _Mark…_ ” She starts, giving her nose a little scratch. “ _He’s been dying since the moment he met you._ ”

* 

The Arabian Peninsula, _1558_

Hakim had told Sadiya several times not to wonder in the night. But when you’ve been cooped up behind walls and tucked in the corner of a wagon for most of your life, adventure is a song impossible to ignore. She wouldn’t wander the deserts though, not just just because there’s hardly anything to find, but because tracking your steps is nearly impossible. There’s a stronger wind in the night and the print you left in the ground is never guaranteed. 

That’s why markets and festivals are Sadiya’s favourite thing, because it means a new town, new people, new corners to unearth. The sound of the bustling streets, men shouting deals at the top of their lungs, the clattering of stalls and the stories being whispered were possibly the most exciting, but torturous sounds. Being kept in her confinements, her pillow her only companion, while Hakim toured the streets would always start an itch she had to scratch. 

She’d usually choose the time just after the day market had closed, when the sun had barely set and Hakim had left to do more personal deals with the traders he’d met. Those kind of talks usually took him into the night. He’d always come back reeking of smoke from the argileh and stumbling over from the liquor, complaining about how much he hated the social customs. This benefited Sadiya however, because it meant she had a few hours in the night to roam. 

There were hardly people out after dusk but Sadiya still took precautions. She’d sewn up dark coloured clothes, puffy legs and a loose tunic to hide her body frame, easy to move about in and blended into the night well. She’d rarely get questioned or caught, but on the one or two few occasions she did, she found it easy to pass off as a teenage boy. With her face covered up, and her eyes lowered, she’d expose her scar to the light and suspicions dwindled. 

That day Sadiya was particularly excited. She’d heard through the wood of her wagon, Hakim talking to a fellow tradesmen before entering the city. She’d found they were close to the border, and that if you head to one of the highest points of the city, what’d be a watchman's tower, you could see the border. It meant she could see the sea. 

She could barely keep herself contained. The moment Hakim had told her he’d be leaving with the other men, Sadiya quickly slipped on her clothes and exited the wagon. It wasn’t particularly dark out, the sand hills in the distance still cradling the sunset. There were torches protruding out from the side of buildings lit and lighting up the footpaths. 

Making her way discretely through the city wasn’t hard, the off-white buildings had been moulded closely together, alleyways at every turn. There were shadows everywhere, welcoming her to hide if need be. She’d already seen the watchtower when she left the wagon, a tall long building, shaped like a tube with a helmet stood obnoxiously from inbetween houses. 

Her steps are light and secretive, her smile hidden behind her veil and her eyes, bright and mischievous, glowing and flickering with the flames of torches. It was when she was running silently down footpaths, slithering her way through shadows, and dancing around guards did she feel most _herself_. She felt _free_. 

Even though Sadiya came to realise that most of the cities in the peninsula looked the same, it hadn’t stopped her from collecting flickers of magic from the small things. Whether it’d be the little boy she had met three full moons ago, his eyes a bright green, a colour she’d never seen before. Or the strange animals she’d seen, one with a shell for a body. There was always something she’d find, something that’d make her smile as she curled back onto the chest that made her bed. 

This time, however, was completely different. Usually the magic would find her as she’d roam the quiet streets, but now she was searching for it. She’d heard the conversations, that this city was famous for attracting artists, painters of the desert. People from all across the land would travel to see the view this city could offer. Sadiya knew then, that no matter what, she would climb that tower and see it for herself. 

By the time she’s reached the tower, the sun had almost completely disappeared and her heart had sunk with it. There was a flame lit to the top, and a shadow moving as if in a march. _Of course there’d be a guard._ She cursed inwardly. She’d been too excited she hadn’t even thought about it. Why wouldn’t a watchman’s tower have a watchman in it? 

She’s contemplating any and every way she could still climb up and see it without getting caught. However, there’s just one entrance and a spiral of stairs, and there’s no guarantee any one of the windows on the way up would offer her the same view the top would. She’d thought about a distraction, something to bring him down, but it was too risky. For all she knew she could alert the guards of the whole city and they’d come raining down on her. 

“ _Sadiya?_ ” A voice called out. 

Sadiya almost fell face first onto the ground, she was in a crouching position beside a tree that she thought had given her enough coverage. She looked up and over her shoulder, squinting at the shadow of a man in the entrance of the watch tower. 

“ _Hakim!?_ ” She shot up to her feet. “ _What are you doing here?_ ” She whispered hurriedly, skittering her way towards him. 

Hakim had a small torch in his hand, in close proximity it gave Sadiya enough vision to make out his face. His face with the biggest smirk plastered on. 

“ _Do you take me for an idiot?_ ” He asked her, raising an eyebrow. “ _You really think I hadn’t noticed you leaving the wagon and touring the cities in the night?_ ” 

Sadiya pressed her lips into a fine line, her sheepish expression just about covered by the veil. “ _When did you find out?_ ” She muttered, her head slightly lowered.

Hakim gave out a light bubble of a laugh. “ _You’ve been sewing clothes for a man too small for me and your feet are constantly covered in dirt and sand despite the fact that you’re not supposed to have left the wagon. I am not the most intellectual of people, but this was rather simple._ ” He grinned wide, evidently satisfied with finally having caught Sadiya red handed.

“ _S-so what? You’re going to drag me off to the wagon and lecture me about the dangers of me wandering around like this?_ ” She said with her chin obnoxiously raised, her eyes daring but it didn’t seem to make the smile on Hakim’s face falter. 

“ _No, we’re going to climb up the tower,_ ” He said with a point. “ _And you can see what you’ve been wanting to see all day._ ” 

Her eyes instantly lit up, and Hakim’s does too in return. “ _Are you serious?_ ” She whispered excitedly, jumping slightly to the tip of her toes. “ _Isn’t there a guard up there?_ ”

Hakim gave her a shake of his head, “ _I already spoke with him. It’s incredibly easy to bribe city dwellers, they’re amazed by anything vaguely foreign._ ” He chuckled in amusement as he nudged Sadiya to follow him up. 

The stairs were endless but virtually nothing to Sadiya as the excitement bubbled up in her chest and made it way through her body, sparking off the little hairs on her arms and legs, and the back of her neck. She could barely contain herself as she skittered up the stairs behind Hakim, nothing but the light of the torch illuminating the way. 

“ _Is there really a view out there? Can you see the water?_ ” Sadiya eagerly asked, tugging on the back of Hakim’s tunic. 

Hakim looked over his shoulder and gave her another mischievous smile before he nodded his way to the front of him. “ _See for yourself._ ” He said finally before making his way up the last step and out through the exit. 

At first all Sadiya saw was the sky, scattered with the tiny lights of stars, the moon hanging in the sky, full and plump. Across the landscape was the desert and from this height she could see the flickers of fires from cities in the distance. Disappointment slowly crept up on her as she stumbled around the tower block looking for the sea.

Then, two firm hands pressed on her shoulders, “ _Over here, Sadiya._ ” Hakim whispered, directing her to stand in front of him, where in the distance she saw the desert being swallowed up by an enormous mass of water. It took her breath away as she looked on to what seemed as if the sky had fallen to the ground. It was as if the stars and moon had spilled into the sand, the water moving rhythmically like the desert land when the wind visited. It was like two worlds meeting, the line between the sand and the water broken and irregular. The water was dark and endless, in the distance it met the sky and they folded together seamlessly. 

“ _It’s like a big oasis._ ” She whispered quietly, it almost came out as a whimper.

It earned her a snort from Hakim. “ _It is, isn’t it?_ ”

“ _It’s so… beautiful._ ” Her voice cracked.

“ _Are you crying?_ ” He asked, craning his neck over her shoulder.

“ _No._ ” She coughed, burying her face deeper into her veil.

Hakim didn’t say anything, instead he wrapped his arms around Sadiya and settled his chin on her shoulder. “ _It doesn’t feel of this world, does it?_ ” He whispered, his voice soothing.

Sadiya sniffled. “ _Is it odd?_ ”

“ _Is what odd?_ ”

“ _That I feel like I’ve been missing this all my life and I’ve finally found it._ ” She said it quietly, as if it were a secret she shouldn’t tell anyone. 

Hakim’s grip around her grew tighter, “ _It’s not odd at all. I felt the same with you._ ” He admitted to her, his voice just as small.

Sadiya gripped the arms around her, slipping off her veil so she could press her lips to his skin. She felt comfort, love and dare she say, complete in his arms. Her eyes looked out to the sea, that washed itself upon the desert shore, the wind carrying its words to tell her _you’re home_.

* 

Seoul, _2016_

Jinyoung wouldn’t wake up. No matter how much Mark begged or screamed, Jinyoung didn’t move an inch. He simply laid there, his breathing steady and his eyes fluttering ever so slightly, dreaming dreams blind to Mark. He stayed like that as Mark called an ambulance, as they carried him off all the way to the hospital and placed him in a room. 

Mark stands rigid in the corner of the hospital room now. The off-cream walls, the stench of disinfectant and the constant beeping made him nauseous. It doesn’t matter though, nothing would make him unhinge his feet from where he is, staring down at Jinyoung. Watching, waiting for the tiniest flicker of change. 

According to readings and scans, the doctors don’t know what is wrong with him… he’s just sleeping. Mark knew in hindsight there’d be nothing they could do, he called them just so _he_ felt like he was doing something. 

“ _I didn’t notice it immediately, but I sensed it over time, his energy depleting,_ ” Sadiya says as she walks around Jinyoung’s bed, her gold tunics dragging behind her on the white, cold floor. “ _I suppose no human could handle that extent of memories rushing in, in such a short amount of time._ ”

“ _But he’d managed it before, he’s lived for so long with those memories, why now?_ ” Barrick asks, sitting rigidly in the cushioned seat at the other corner of the room. His blonde hair is brushed in the opposite direction and his jaw rigid as his eyes settle harshly on Jinyoung. 

Sadiya gives Barrick and Mark a sad look and then goes back to Jinyoung, crouching beside his bed and stroking the back of his hand. “ _It’s like… a large tank of water rushing in through a tiny crack, it’s pushing its way in with so much force and speed. His body can’t take it, the tank is breaking._ ” She explains solemnly. 

“He knew.” Mark mutters, his eyes blinking furiously, rejecting the tears that willed their way out. “Maybe not straight away but at some point he knew.”

Sadiya looks over her shoulder and gives him a nod. 

“ _He didn’t say anything… Henrikka should have warned-_ ” Barrick bites his lip, dropping his head into his hands. 

“They knew, they all knew that there’d be nothing anyone could do.” Mark shakingly says, his breathing weak and haggard. “That’s why he kept begging me to just focus on the two of us, to forget everything and enjoy what we had. That’s why he was so… scared.” The last word comes out in a choke and Mark can’t hold onto himself anymore, he gives into the wall behind him and slips down to the ground. 

The room door slams open then, banishing Sadiya and Barrick to the back of Mark’s mind as Mihyun rushes into the room. “Professor!?” She shouts as her eyes land upon Mark, sitting on the floor in a ball. “W-what is going on?” She mumbles, looking around and finding Jinyoung tucked neatly into his bed, wires tying him to machines. 

She takes a deep breath and places her hands on her hips, “See… this… _this_ scene right here… I’ve had enough of it. Like up to my neck enough.” She says aggressively, breathing in deeply through her nose. “Why are you on the floor, Professor? Get up. He’ll wake up any second.” She says strongly, so convinced and confident as she makes her way to Jinyoung’s side.

Mark watches her silently as she gives Jinyoung a once over, picking up the covers and looking underneath, checking at his legs and arms and all the machines even if she couldn’t understand a thing. “See? He’s not hurt.” She says to Mark. “He’s just sleeping. This has happened to you, to him, several times now. He’ll wake up with some sort of new information; you both work like freaking computers, need a goddamn system reboot to register everything.” 

Mark licks his lips, so dry and chapped that it makes him wince a little as he tries to speak. “Mihyun-” 

“What is it this time? Something to do with the demons, did you unlock pandora's box or something? Ahjumma’s outside filling out some forms by the way, she’s kind of a pro at this now.” Mihyun is rambling, her foot tapping aggressively to the floor and Mark could tell she knew something was off.

“He’s dying, Mihyun.” Mark says roughly, the words scratching at his throat.

Mihyun’s foot stops tapping and she stares down at Jinyoung with knitted eyebrows. She takes in a deep breath and looks up at a Mark with a rigid face, “What did you say?”

Mark rubs at his face and tries to clear his throat but it’s like something's lodged in there. “You’ve noticed it too. You told me yourself he’s been complaining about headaches, sleeping more… now he’s just not waking up… he’s dying-”

“That doesn’t mean-” Mihyun sucks in a breath between her teeth. “That doesn’t mean he’s dying, Professor. Maybe… maybe something’s changing again. What makes you so convinced he’s dying?” 

“He’s known himself for a while now. I should have sensed it earlier but… he’s known. He just didn’t want to worry us.” Mark murmurs. He couldn’t bare the thought of Jinyoung alone, knowing he was dwindling away, begging for more time, begging to spend the rest of it with a smile on his face. 

“Why do you know? How do you know if you just found him asleep?” Mihyun argues back, her hands that were now clenched into fists were shaking and her eyes shone a little under the fluorescent light.

“I remember Sadiya, my beginning. My first life.” Mark explains weakly. 

Mihyun’s face scrunches up, like she’s trying to understand all the information being thrown at her but it’s coming back with an error. “I don’t understand. It’s just a ghost, how would they know anything?”

_Rude._

“I’m more inclined to believe her… she’s been around for five hundred years now, she knows more than any of us conscious in this room.” Mark retorts and Mihyun winces. 

She starts pacing then, walking in a half circle back and forth around Jinyoung’s bed. “So what are we supposed to do? There has to be something we can do right? He can’t die just- wait, wait… if he dies… doesn’t that meant…?” She looks at Mark as the realisation and dread dawns upon her. His silence is enough of an answer for her. 

She quickly rushes to where Mark is, crouching before him and placing two shaky hands on his shoulders. “Is this what this is? Is this what you’re doing? Giving up?” Mihyun asks, the tears in her eyes now so very clear to Mark. “You guys can’t just… _die._ This isn’t how it’s supposed to end.”

Mark’s lip twitches. “How is it supposed to end?” 

Mihyun settles back onto the floor, her legs crossed and her eyes drooping. “I don’t know… we were supposed to have more time… to… figure this out.” She mumbles. 

“Maybe this is just how things are…” Mark says. “How long does a happy ending last anyway?” 

Mihyun looks up at him harshly. “I hate it when you talk like that.” Mihyun mutters and pushes herself back up to her feet. “It may seem nothing to you guys… _death_ , but for people like me, for everyone else out there in the world, we just have this one.” She turns around stiffly and looks down at Mark, fear and sadness swirling in those large, round eyes of hers. “We just have this one life, Professor. You and Jinyoung and Professor Choi may continue on for a god damn eternity, but we stop here. Ahjumma and me, we just have this one. So if you give up on this one, you’re giving up on us too.” She says the words with a broken heart. Mihyun, a girl made of smiles and strength, cracking.

Mark gives his face an aggressive rub, his palms sweaty against his tear stained cheeks. With one deep breath he pushes himself up to his feet and takes a step closer to Mihyun. She stares up at him, balls of water accumulating in the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry, I never thought about it like that,” He admits, placing his hands to either side of Mihyun’s face. “I guess Sadiya was right. I’ve never really learnt to stop and see the things that were around me… the people that love me, and without realising, the people that I love.”

“Oh, if Jinyoung could see us now.” Mihyun chuckles from underneath him. Mark pulls back to find a wide grin on her face and a trail of swept away tears. 

Mark returns the grin with his own, it’s slightly forced but it’s honest. “I have a plan. It might not work, and we might all still die but… it’s doing something-”

“It’s not giving up.” Mihyun finishes eagerly. She sniffs deeply and takes a step back from Mark to pat at her head and pinch at her cheeks until they glowed a light red. She looks up at Mark with those strong eyes he knew so well, and gives her hair a flick. “So what do you need me to do?”


	25. an exchange

Jinyoung had gone into respiratory arrest. The machines had suddenly started beeping urgently, doctors and nurses rushing in within seconds. Mark watched from his corner while men and women in blue and white coats flew in constant opposite lines. Wires and machines, needles and fluid, that awful beeping, and the smell of chemicals made Mark want to be sick. It’s his third experience being in a hospital and he thinks it’s enough to say he doesn’t like it at all. 

After Jinyoung stabled, the doctors had tried to explain to Mark what had happened; something to do with oxygen not flowing properly. They asked him if Jinyoung had sustained any injuries to his head but Mark came out empty. He’d overheard them later in the halls talking about how illogical and sudden Jinyoung’s symptoms were, none of them could make out what was going on. After the attack, nurses and doctors started to come in more frequently. 

“ _You haven’t moved an inch from that corner since you got here, Mark._ ” Barrick says from the very seat he himself hasn’t moved an inch from the moment they got here. “ _Shouldn’t you be next to him?_ ” 

Mark has his arms crossed across his chest, his eyes unblinking and solid as they stare down at Jinyoung. Jinyoung, now with a mask around his face, sleeping a sleep that looked so peaceful that Mark would have thought he’d already died if it weren’t for the sound of his pulse coming from the machine. 

Sadiya gives Mark a guilty look from where she’s standing by the door. “ _Mark…_ ” She calls out, her lips contorted. “ _About earlier…_ ”

“You were testing me, right?” Mark says, neither in anger or irritation. 

Sadiya looks downs, pulling gently at her earlobe. “ _Yes, I suppose._ ”

Barrick huffs from his corner, “ _A test? It looked like a butchering to me._ ”

Sadiya gives him a thin glare, “ _Well if I was going to have to spend the rest of eternity with you lot, I’d rather not have an unfeeling, robot of a ghost beside me throughout it._ ” She snaps and Barrick puts his hands up in defence, edging back into the seat. Sadiya gives Barrick another little glare before softening her expression and turning towards Mark. “ _Besides, you’re still living… for now. I just didn’t want you to regret anything, Mark. At least not the way we do._ ”

“I get it.” Mark says with a sigh. “Besides you sort of woke me up… even if it was at the last minute.” He moves himself from his position, body stiff and reluctant to walk but he forces the steps out of them, making his way to Jinyoung’s side. “What happened, Sadiya, back then?” He asks, crouching down so his head was levelled with Jinyoung’s. 

“ _What happened?_ ” 

Mark goes to slide a hand under Jinyoung’s limp one and looks up at her from across the room, “Why did you go back home? I share your memories but I don’t share your thoughts. I don’t really understand.” 

Sadiya leans her head back, her eyes up to the ceiling in thought. “Nightmares, my friend.” She sighs. “ _Jinns. Youngjae told you that they saw their end coming and he was right. They couldn’t live in a world where religion was secondary and metal made up the land. They knew their extinction was close and they were going to take every damn human they could with them._ ” She gave Barrick and Mark each a single, long look. “ _They were like… poison in the air, and we all drank it in. They started playing with us, playing at our weaknesses, and we all reacted in different ways… some stronger than others._ ” 

“ _They enticed you to go back, even though you knew it was the most dangerous place for you?_ ” Barrick asks, the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and his hair was back to its usual neat, swept back state. _He’s concentrating._ Mark smiles to himself and Barrick twitches almost like he could hear the thought. 

“ _I’d thought there wasn’t much left for me there. I thought I didn’t have any glimmer of affection for that city and its… pathetic walls but I was wrong._ ” Sadiya says. “ _I’d simply forced myself to not think about it. To think about how much I missed my mother._ ” Sadiya looks to the floor, her eyelids fluttering. “ _I was weak to it, I gave into their tauntings and soon enough I made Hakim take me back home. We’d fought for days, but in the end he wasn’t someone that could say no to me._ ” She says this softly, gently whilst staring at Jinyoung, maybe the first glimpse of love for the man Mark sees in her memories.

The door opens then, a nurse with a clip board bows and enters quietly. Mark doesn’t miss the little glance she gives their intertwined hands as she ticks away at the paper with her pen. No words are exchanged as Sadiya and Barrick meld into the air and Mark brings his eyes back to Jinyoung. When the nurse finally leaves, Barrick clears his throat and nudges at Sadiya with his chin.

“ _What did you expect, going there?_ ” Barrick asks, as Mark rubs his thumb to the back of Jinyoung’s hand, trying not to think about just how cold Jinyoung’s skin was against his own. 

“ _I don’t know… I guess I just wanted to ease my worries…_ ” Sadiya shrugs, the arms of her tunic now rolled up to her elbows. “ _It was stupid because just as Hakim and I had been tormented by demons, so were the people of the city. My father especially. He was a loving man but he was a man nonetheless. A man with too much pride and too dependant on his dignity, so he was basically a feast for the Jinns._ ” She spat the words to the ground and sucked in a breath between her teeth. 

Mark could feel the emotions binding and twisting between them; sadness, hatred, disgust. Faded and torn feelings, crumpled and stepped on for years and years until all that was left amongst the venom was exhaustion. 

Sadiya blinks and looks up abruptly, clearing her throat. Barrick and Mark stayed where they were, silently. “ _Anyways, I’ll save you the gory details of what happened in the end, you probably have seen those pretty memories vividly anyway. In the end, I died and Hakim… well, Hakim was never one to rest, was he now?_ ” She shakes her head.

“ _Do you regret it? Going back?_ ” Barrick asks, staring absentmindedly at the floor.

Sadiya looks at him with a half smile. “ _Every. Damn. Day._ ” She punches out. “ _But well, where would we be if it weren’t for the things we did or didn’t do?_ ” 

“Or who would we be?” Mark adds. 

Barrick blinks and looks up at Mark, “ _A question for fate?_ ”

“ _Or maybe fate’s question for us?_ ” Sadiya throws out. 

They chuckle together, it’s a small moment of lightheartedness that abruptly gets popped by the sudden cry of the machines. Beeping and screeching explodes from around him whilst Jinyoung begins to shake violently in his bed.

It’s only a couple of seconds until the door swings open and the same doctors and nurses come rushing in. “Excuse me, sir. Could you leave for a moment?” One of the nurses kindly but hurriedly asks Mark as she tugs on his arm.

“Is it another attack?” One of the junior doctors asks and it’s the last thing Mark hears before the door is shut behind him and nothing but white noise follows. 

Mark stands dimly in the hospital hallway. Whiteness drags on for what looks like eternity, bright lights flashing against metal while doctors and patients in their designated gowns warp into the walls. Mark thinks he’s going to be sick. He has the vague, distant thought to get to a toilet but the thought disperses as a small, warm hand wraps around Mark’s. 

Mark sucks in a long, deep breath, letting his lungs expand to the bottom, holding it in until it becomes painful, and then releases it. The white noise clears and soon enough his surroundings come back to him, to where Insook is beside him, her hand in his. 

“Ahjumma,” Mark calls out softly. Wrinkles that once made her look shrivelled up and angry now seem looser, gentle around the eyes and the lips. She’s looking up at him with clear worry in her eyes.

“I don’t want you in a bed too, Mark.” She says and tugs on his hand hard, dragging him to the idle seats just outside Jinyoung’s room. “He’ll be fine, he’ll be fine.” She comforts, rubbing Mark’s back. 

Mark stares at her small figure, noticing a pile of blankets hung around her free arm, and suddenly felt like crying. He knows that’d only get him a slap across the face though so he tries his best to suck it in and not give in to the old comfort that elders seem to just protrude. “Thank you, Ahjumma… for everything.” 

Insook shakes her head. “I’ve done nothing to be thanked for.”

“You were never curious? Never wanted to know what was really going?” Mark asks. He’d been avoiding being alone with her for too long, worried she’d give in to questions. She always seemed like the type to want to be in control and this is just a situation that no one could control. 

She stops patting Mark’s back and drops it down to her lap, patting the set of blankets in her lap instead. “When you have seen the things I have seen, experience teaches you when you should ask and when you don’t, when you know you can help and when all you can do is simply… observe idly.” She murmurs, her voice uncharacteristically low. 

Sadiya suddenly appears, standing before the two of them. Her golden tunics are harsh against Mark’s eyes, the light basically reflecting off her like a mirror. _What’s her full name?_

Mark gives Insook a look from the side and then a curious glance up at Sadiya. _Lee Insook._ He answers in his mind and is caught off guard by the look on Sadiya’s face. She’s smiling, a full blown out smile that has the ends of her lips digging into her cheeks and curving her eyes. 

_Fate’s a bastard, isn’t he?_ Sadiya almost giggles. _Giggles._

 _Fate’s a man?_ Barrick retorts in amusement from beside the two of them, leaning nonchalantly against the wall.

 _Well he would be, wouldn’t he?_ Sadiya says with a raise of her eyebrows. Barrick doesn’t refute it. 

_What are you both talking about?_ Mark asks in silent confusion, looking up at the two of them for answers. 

“Professor! Professor!” Mihyun’s voice practically booms down the hallway, bouncing off the walls in an echo that just got louder. “I brought him!” She hollers as she stampedes down towards them. Following just behind is Youngjae, surprisingly running just as fast.

“You were faster than I expected.” Mark says, just as Mihyun pulls the brakes and screeches to a haggard stop in front of them. 

“Taxi… drivers with no care for the law… are great.” She wheezes hard, hands to her hips. 

“Mark… what’s going on?” Youngjae asks first thing, seemingly unphased from the run. “Is Jinyoung ok-”

The room door opens just then, the doctors and nurses spilling out like ants in lab coats. One doctor, older and taller, fine grey lines streaking his hair, turns towards the lot of them and scopes out Mark. “You’re Park Jinyoung’s guardian, right? His professor? I spoke to you earlier.”

“Uh… yes.” Mark nods, the memory vague. 

“Well, he’s okay… for now. We’ve yet to figure out what’s causing the arrests-”

“Arrests!?” Mihyun pipes from the back and then slaps a hand to her face.

The doctor gives her a quick look before continuing. “As I said, we don’t know what’s causing them. He hadn’t shown any signs when he first came in so we’re going to run some tests, get some scans and an MRI done. I do need to mention though… if these attacks persist, his life will be in danger.” 

_It’s already in danger._

Mark clears his throat and gives the doctor a nod, “Thank you, Doctor. Can we go inside?” 

“For now, yes. Some nurses will come by soon to take him for his scan.” He says and then bows before briskly walking away. 

Mark watches him until he turns a corner down the hall and then turns around abruptly. “Let’s talk inside.” Mark says pointedly. 

“I’ll go bring some tea.” Insook says and turns away without another word. Mark takes in a deep breath and watches her hunched back. _I’ll see you later._

“Quick, we haven’t got a lot of time.” Mark says to Youngjae and grabs him by the wrist, dragging him inside the room, followed closely by Mihyun.

“What’s going on, Mark?” Youngjae asks as he makes his way further in, his eyes instantly falling upon Jinyoung. “Why is he… why is he like this?”

Mark locks the door behind him and turns to the two of them, finding Sadiya and Barrick already having made themselves comfortable around the seat by the door. “He’s dying, Youngjae, he’s been dying since his memories started coming. Since I triggered them. You didn’t know?” 

Youngjae’s eyebrows knit together, “ _Dying?_ Are you sure?” 

“Sleeping more often, headaches, nightmares, his memories coming back in such fragmented ways. What made you think this would end well?” Mark snaps, and then quickly bites back his lip. This isn’t what he called Youngjae for. “Look there’s no point in going over this again. I need to ask you one simple thing... do you still want to live this out? This revenge?” 

Youngjae finally turns to look at Mark then, narrowed eyes and lips slightly turned down. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m asking you a very simple question,” Mark says hard, closing the gap between them so there’s just a few inches of space. “Do you still want to live out this revenge?”

“You mean continue to remember… alongside Jinyoung?” Youngjae says.

“Yes.” 

Youngjae looks at Mark and then at Jinyoung, his eyes spinning around the place. Mark can maybe imagine what is going on through his head; thoughts, memories, _ghosts._ To Mark, the room felt crowded but he wonders what it’s like for Youngjae right now, how many lives are weighing in on his own. 

“I’d give it up.” Youngjae says finally, his voice almost distant until a chuckle slips. “It would seem alongside demons, even ghosts get tired.” His smile drops quickly. “But you haven’t explained anything, Mark, wanting to give up isn’t the same as being able to.”

“It’s a start.” Mark says with a swallow, the full extent of his plan now slowly hitting him. His eyes fall on Jinyoung tucked in bed. He looked paler and Mark feared to touch him again. “I remembered Sadiya.”

“Y-you what?” Youngjae stutters. “You remember her? So you must know now?” 

Mark nods, “No one made a wish Youngjae, if our theory is right, I have wishes.” 

“Is this your plan then? Has Sadiya opened up a path or something?” Youngjae asks hurriedly, his eyes shone bright, they were _hopeful._

“Not exactly. She just made some things clear.” Mark says, watching Youngjae’s face. “Jinn’s don’t grant wishes, Youngjae. They make deals, you must know that better than any of us.” 

Youngjae’s face drops in an instant, a monotone look shrouding his face. “I see. So it’s pointless.”

“Why is it pointless?” Mihyun interjects hurriedly. Mark looks towards her standing tightly, the tips of her toes tapping away in anxiety. “Why is it pointless? You can save him, can’t you? Save everyone?” 

Youngjae looks from Mihyun to Mark. “Five hundred years. _Five hundred years._ Do you know what we’ve- _they’ve_ seen; destruction, death, wars and blood beyond your comprehension. Do you know what one thing we share so keenly with demons, Mark? It’s pain, vivid pain, and that seems to be the only thing this world seems to offer. So tell me, after all this time, what could a demon possibly want anymore?” 

“Being together, don’t you think?” Mark says with conviction. 

Youngjae looks taken back. “What are you talking about?” 

“Two deals were made, Youngjae. Two deals, two humans, two Jinns… all connected to me.” Mark explains. “What would a creature of a species that’s nearly extinct, that is tired and all alone in the world possibly want after so long?”

“You can’t be serious-”

“It’s a deal they can’t refuse!” Mark snaps, hands clenched and anxiety clawing up his throat. “They can’t refuse it. You said it yourself, they’re tired, Youngjae.”

Youngjae takes a step closer to Mark and shoves him harshly at the shoulder, “So what you’re saying is you’re going to give yourself up so these… _things_ can finally be together?”

“No…” Mark whispers. “I’m giving myself up in exchange for you two.” 

Youngjae takes a step back, a shaky palm to his mouth, his eyes wide. “You don’t know what you’re bringing upon yourself, Mark. Eternity isn’t a joke. You’ll be all alone.”

Mark licks his lips, his throat closing off and he’s begging silently for the strength not to break down and cry right now. He sees in the corner of his eyes: blonde hair and small shaky hands intertwined together. He looks towards Mihyun, all red eyes and trembling. Besides her are Sadiya and Barrick, looking up at him with the softest of looks, and the most understanding of them all.

“I’m not alone.” He says quietly and then looks towards Jinyoung. “But most importantly, I’ll never regret this.”

“You don’t know that, you don’t know this feeling-”

“ _Youngjae,_ ” Mark calls out harshly. “It’s time for change.” 

Youngjae bites his lips, frustrated hands ruffling at his hair. “You need to think about this more-” He stops himself this time, sucking in a breath the moment his eyes laid upon Jinyoung again. “We don’t have time, do we?” 

“We can’t guarantee anything in the next life. We need to do this _now_.” Mark says hurriedly, the adrenaline and fear pumping furiously in his veins, blocking out every other thought that could trample his conviction right now. It was either now or never.

 _A once in forever opportunity._

Youngjae stares down at Jinyoung with an unreadable expression, his jaw tight and his lip tucked in. Eventually he gives in with a weak nod and downcast eyes. Mark could see it clearly in his body, all the grief, the guilt and even the relief. 

Rigidly, Mark moves towards Jinyoung. His heart beating in his ears, drumming like a song so ferociously. In hindsight, he has absolutely no clue what he’s doing or if it’ll even work. Hope and fear thick in the room, suffocating and tight. The feelings Mark has kept so tightly locked inside himself spilling into the room and there’s no way to shut the box again. He finally gave into the tears, sadness, worry, and love spilling down his face as he crumpled beside Jinyoung on the floor. 

He didn’t know what to say, or better yet there was too much to say. He understood now, if even slightly, the need for more time, how much Jinyoung must have begged for it, for the small moments they had and wished for them to last for eternity. 

_They will. You won’t forget._ Barrick says quietly. 

Mark sucks in a breath and straightens himself up so he can lean against the mattress, just beside Jinyoung’s hand. He’s still afraid to touch him, afraid of the cold, afraid of losing him. 

“It’s okay, Professor. We’re with you.” Mihyun whispers from beside Mark as she grabs his hand and wraps it around Jinyoung’s. “We’re always going to be with you.” She says and holds their hands tightly. Mark looks down at her shaky palm and smiles a little. 

Youngjae comes into vision then, crouching beside Jinyoung from the opposite side. “We’ll always be friends.” Youngjae says and looks directly at Mark. “We always have been.” 

Mark nods eagerly, wiping away the rogue tears with the back of his hand. “Okay… let’s do this-” Mark’s words get caught in his throat as he sees the bar of the bed before him rattle ever so slightly. 

“Oh no…” Mihyun murmurs. Her words seem like a trigger because in the next second the rattling amplifies and suddenly the whole room is vibrating. “Is it Jinyoung!?” Mihyun screams as she crouches down into a ball whilst the room begins to violently shake.

Mark struggles to grab a footing, his arms locked around the rails of the bed as he pushes himself up to where he finds Jinyoung’s eyes are wide open, his body convulsing violently. The beeping of machines are like sirens, high pitch screams alongside the rumble of the ground. 

“Mark! Mark!” Youngjae shouts from across the bed. “There’s no time now.”

“I know! I know!” Mark panickingly shouts back, his hand now in an iron grip around Jinyoung. “Jinyoung? Jinyoung, can you hear me?” He calls out as his other hand goes to hold Jinyoung by the head. He doesn’t seem to see him though, doesn’t register him at all. Tears start spilling down Mark’s face again as he quickly goes in to give him one quick kiss, his lips shakingly pressed to his forehead. He thinks the words or whispers them, he can’t tell, his head drowning in noise, clattering and the beeping, his heartbeat raging in his head. 

_It’s time._

Mark closes his eyes, both hands clamped around Jinyoung’s. He tries to breathe in steadily despite the feeling of having the ground break up from beneath his feet.

“Mark! Mark! Wait!” Youngjae calls out urgently. Mark cracks an eye open. “My name- my name-” He shouts out desperately. 

_Now or never._

Mark looks towards Jinyoung now, knowing that the only way he could do this is by looking at him. He’d wished for one more moment maybe, for a chance to talk to him one last time. But as fate would have it, opportunities were only so rare.

So he takes a deep breath, and intertwines their fingers together as the world falls apart around them. And in the same moment Mark signs a deal with the devil, Jinyoung’s eyes flicker towards Mark’s and the world is frozen in that one millisecond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is, in fact, the end. i will be uploading an epilogue and looooong authors note after, see you soon!


	26. epilogue

London, _2021_

Museums at night aren’t particularly as scary as some people may think. Suppose it also depends what kind of museum it is. Having antiques, historical items, clothes and the sorts probably isn’t as nightmare inducing as mummified Egyptians in glass boxes. Still, Jinyoung likes the silence and the low lights.

He’s not usually around for long after closing time but today is one of those rare days where they get to see a new shipment of items. It’s probably one of Jinyoung’s favourite things about working in a museum. There’s the initial curiosity, the wonder in the items dug up from places that were once lost and thought to be lost forever. Then, it’s the research, getting to find out exactly where it came from, who it belonged to and how it was found. 

It’s in Jinyoung’s job description, to _know_ all this stuff since he tends to most of the items and tours in the museum. Considering how multicultural and tourist friendly London is, his aptitude for languages came in handy when applying for the job here nearly three years ago. 

“ _I think the truck is pulling in._ ” Manpreet buzzes in through the walkie talkie, his voice scratchy and tired. He’s evidently not as excited about this shipment as Jinyoung is. 

Jinyoung pulls the walkie talkie from its casing, settled on his hip and brings it to his lips. “Got it.” He clicks in and quickly tucks the device away. He turns to his colleagues, lounging around behind him in the storage warehouse where most of the items that first arrive gets pictured, filed, and checked for authenticity. 

A lot of them look tired and cold. Although the warehouse is usually kept at room temperature for the sake of preserving the pieces, English weather is a tyrant to be reckoned with. “We’ll get this done quickly and properly and then you can all go home, okay?” Jinyoung says in comfort, earning him a few smiles and nods. 

A blaring beep goes off then, a red light spinning like that of a police car to indicate the warehouse doors opening up and that a vehicle would be coming in. It’s pitch black out, winter had the day's ending between four to five pm, so all Jinyoung could see was the large box shadow of what may be a large truck and two red back lights slowly inching closer to the opening in the warehouse. 

“What’s this shipment for anyway?” Michelle asks, coming up from just behind Jinyoung. 

Jinyoung double takes over his shoulder, surprised to see her here. She’s a small, dark-skinned girl, with black braided hair tied up high into a neat bun. She works at the reception, so he’s not entirely sure why she’s here for the heavy lifting. “Did Paul ask you to help?” Jinyoung asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, he picked people out of random. Don’t think he thought about it at all.” She replies with a sigh. “So what’s the stuff about? Is it for the new exhibition?” 

Jinyoung nods. “Yeah, I’ve been following up on it for a year now. It got a lot of reception in Sweden and Germany… _Fate or Feeling._ ” Jinyoung explains as the truck exposes itself under the lights of the warehouse. “The guy leading it is like some machine, he’s been going on expeditions and archeology digs for three years straight. Finding artifacts and things in places people even didn’t think to search in.” 

“Sounds like a human metal detector.” Michelle jokes. “So is he coming alongside the stuff?”

Jinyoung blinks, he hadn’t thought about it. “I don’t know. I suppose it makes sense if he did, it is his exhibit. I’ve just been emailing his assistant, I thought it’d fit into the museum perfectly but I was surprised to find it took convincing Paul to accept it more than it took convincing them to come.”

Michelle rolls her eyes at that, “I have no idea why Paul still has his job if you ask me. The last three exhibits you brought to this museum in the last two years have been more of a success than anything Paul has done in the last eight.”

Jinyoung tries not to let it show on his face how happy he is to hear her say that. He’d been really worried when he first moved here from South Korea, thinking he’d never fit in, or that his English is too godawful, or that maybe this wasn’t the type of work he was meant for but he’d been pleasantly surprised. Michelle and Manpreet had become one of his closest friends from the museum, while he shares an apartment with two students and a recent graduate who spends most of his time writing scripts and drinking coffee. 

“Okay, time to unload!” Manpreet waves as he appears through the side door of the warehouse. He’s of the lanky sort, stupidly tall and looks like he could wrap himself around a lamp post three times. Jinyoung constantly commends him though, because despite how tired and unbothered with life he comes across, his turban is always, under every circumstance and weather, perfectly wrapped upon his head.

Two men hop down from the front of the truck and make their way back as the lot of them move in closer. They all watch as one of the drivers unlocks the large, white doors and swings them open, banging violently to the sides. Jinyoung flinches, silently cursing their carelessness. 

“Where we putting them?” The other man shouts out in a thick cockney accent. He’s tall and round and looks like all he wants to do is chuck the contents of the truck out and make a dash for it.

Jinyong hurries to them quickly, equipping his friendly smile. “Just place them upon the tables set up over there.” Jinyoung says, pointing towards the left of the warehouse. “We’ll help you.” 

They give him a nod and Jinyoung quickly gestures to the rest of the museum employees. They move things out swiftly but carefully, no less than two people per item if need be. Jinyoung has them set up on the desks by names for each item. He’d received the list a week prior to their arrival and matched them to the labels stuck neatly to the cardboard covered artifacts. It takes just over an hour to empty out the truck and the two drivers are quick to disappear the moment they shut the doors to their vehicle. 

“James, can you go over all the items, checking if the labels match the cards and make sure nothing is missing?” Jinyoung asks the newest employee, who nods along eagerly to his instructions. “Manpreet, where are the exhibitors?” Jinyoung asks, placing a hand to his friend’s shoulder.

“They came before the items arrived by half an hour, I was talking to them up at reception.” Manpreet explains, nodding his head to the back of the warehouse that connected to the main building of the museum. “They had a long flight here so I told them to grab a meal while they signed some papers first, they should be coming to check on their items soon.”

Jinyoung gives him a nod and then heads back towards James. “How’s everything?” 

“Everything seems to be in order… do you want us to unpack the items now?” James asks, tapping away at his clipboard with the tip of his pen.

“Yes, start removing the cardboard carefully and take them to the lab so they’re ready to be checked and displayed tomorrow morning. Setting up the exhibit will take all day tomorrow, so let’s do what we can today.” Jinyoung says, and everyone moves in motion to his words. 

They all grab a pair of plastic gloves and cutters prepared in a box beside the setup tables. Most things have been settled into briefcases lined with cushion and velvets, while others have been stuffed into crates. Jinyoung makes his way to one of the unattended tables that have two crates covered in cardboard placed on the top of it. One is rectangular and thin, while the other is thicker in size. 

Jinyoung goes for the smaller one first. Taking his cutter, he delicately snips at the corners of the cardboard and pops it off with one swift movement. Underneath it is simply a wooden crate stapled shut around the edges. He can’t really guess what is from the outside, he only has the name of the piece; _Threads of Dreams._ James has the more detailed list on hand, matching the name to the items, so Jinyoung just lets his curiosity take him and goes to unbox the item. 

The staples come out easily with a pair of plyers he’s snuck away from Michelle. He lifts the top of the crate, protective stuffing falling out with it. Inside are two square shaped items wrapped up in velvet. “James,” Jinyoung calls out, looking down at the items curiously. “Can you come for a second?”

“What’s up?” James jogs his way to Jinyoung, clipboard and pen in hand.

“What are these meant to be? ‘Threads of… dreams’?” Jinyoung asks, reading the card from beside the crate.

James looks down at his clipboard and flicks over a page, his eyes scanning the list. “They’re meant to be… cushions I think. Made of silk and have images threaded onto them.” James says, eyeing Jinyoung’s hands as they go to remove the velvet covering. “Think they came from somewhere on the border of a Saudi Arabian desert.” He continues to explain as Jinyoung reveals the first cushion.

The picture is amateurish if anything, the gold silk now slightly dulled down and torn at the edges, the threads pulled out in places and fraying at the corners. But there’s something about it, Jinyoung finds himself holding his breath as he takes a gloved finger and delicately rubs at the image of what looks like a person balled up onto the ground, staring at a carriage heading their way. 

“It looks like a desert,” James says twisting his head so he could see it from Jinyoung’s angle.

“What makes you say that?” Jinyoung blinks up at him.

“You can see the gold kind of cut off here like they’re hills, and this could be the sky, I mean it’s all faded out and white but there’s also this single round piece of fabric that looks like it’s the sun.” He explains with a point, his hand ghosting over the sand hills.

“You’re right!” An unfamiliar and chirpy voice pipes from beside the two of them. Jinyoung turns around to find a woman with round, monolid eyes and short, black hair standing promptly in jeans and an oversized jumper. She has average height for someone that looks East Asian- even Korean, Jinyoung might guess. “It’s part of a collection of items we dug up from the desert. It’s a picture that depicts a man and woman-that’s the one on the ground-” She says with a quick point. “Meeting for the first time.” 

“He’s saving her?” James guesses.

“Or they’re saving each other?” She grins wide, it’s bright and exposes all her teeth. James gives her a little shrug and then swivels at the call of his name, leaving the two with a nod. 

“Are you one of the exhibitors?” Jinyoung asks, turning back to the woman.

“Yes, it’s nice to finally see you, Jinyoung.” She beams as she holds out a hand. Jinyoung blinks surprised, moving to shake her hand. “I’m Mihyun, Kim. We’ve been emailing each other for quite some time now.”

“Oh. Yes, it’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what you looked like.” Jinyoung perks up, quickly going in for a more confident handshake. She laughs at that, a light bubble of a sound.

“It’s alright. I just got told to come down here to check everything is all good? All the items arrived safely?” She asks, her eyes direct and wide, staring at Jinyoung like she could see through him.

Jinyoung clears his throat, “Yes, it seems everything is here. We’re just having them unpacked and sending them to our labs so they can get authenticity checks.” Jinyoung explains, giving this small corner of the warehouse a quick scope before returning them back to Mihyun. “If you don’t mind me asking, you’re Korean, right? I kind of guessed from your name but I wasn’t sure.” 

“I am…” She trails off, biting a lip a little like she has something she wants to say. She gives the warehouse a quick look herself, except a little more in suspicion and then skitters her way closer to Jinyoung. “We actually went to university together.” 

This throws Jinyoung off, anxiety quickly bloating up like a balloon in his chest. “Excuse me?”

“You went to Yonsei University before, right?” She asks and Jinyoung thinks about a hundred different ways how to not answer this question but all that ends up coming out of his mouth is a puff of air.

“Uh… yeah…” Jinyoung awkwardly steps back. “I’m sorry, did- uh, did we know each other?”

That puts a different kind of smile on her face. “No, we didn’t, not closely anyway. But we did have a class together.” 

“I see,” Jinyoung nods, breathing in through his nose. “I’m sorry I don’t… remember… much. I-”

“It’s alright,” Mihyun grins, tucking a strand of her short hair behind her ear. “I heard you had to drop out because of an accident, I’m glad to see you’re okay though.” She pauses then. “You are okay, right?” 

“Y-yeah! Yeah! I’m good- great even.” Jinyoung says quickly, clearing his throat. There’s an awkwardness between them he couldn’t explain. “I just lost a year or two of memories, that’s all, well I mean it’s _not all_ , I’d heard my brain… kind of suffered a blow or something but I mean it could have been worse right?” He tries to say the last bit lightly but it comes out tight instead and he winces at himself. 

She snorts at that, “ _Right._ ”

A phone goes off then, the ringtone an old girl group song from a South Korean idol group. It’s nostalgic and makes Jinyoung think of his parents, he hasn’t called them in a while. Mihyun gestures towards Jinyoung in an apology and indicates she’s going to answer the phone.

“Hello, Professor?” She answers before turning around and walking a bit away to talk in privacy.

Jinyoung sucks in a deep breath and turns back to the crate in front of him. His thoughts spiral a bit as he stares down at one of the exposed cushions. It wasn’t that he didn’t like to talk about what happened to him four years ago, but it’s just that… _he didn’t know_ what happened to him. Last time he checked he was panicking over a paper he needed to hand in, next moment he’s two years older and in a hospital bed with no recollection of the gap in between. 

A lot of things had happened, a lot out of his control. His parents pulled him out of school and made him stay at home for a while. He’d heard rumours though, whether through the people he was meant to remember and didn’t, or from vague articles and forums he’d seen on the internet. He clearly had a mental relapse of some sort, something his parents didn’t know much about while he was attending university. It was easily decided however, that it was something to leave behind in the past. 

Jinyoung didn’t really fight against it or make an effort to regain his memories. It was hard to miss something you couldn’t remember in the first place. 

An incomplete and anxious feeling swirls inside him whenever he thinks about that time, so he tries not to think about it at all. It’s just he wasn’t expecting to meet someone from his past all the way out here in London. He wonders if Mihyun knew who he was before she met him today. It’s an odd coincidence. 

Jinyoung absentmindedly goes to unwrap the second pillow. This one is made up predominately of a dark blue silk, the corners stitched with white thread. Jinyoung guesses it’s the sea this time because the blue is settled to the bottom of the cushion and the golden silk is threaded to the top. Upon the coast seems to be the image of two people, folded beside each other. He can’t make out any details though, their threads loose and clumped together. 

“Jinyoung!” Manpreet’s voice booms across the warehouse. Jinyoung looks up abruptly. “Man, I’ve called out to you like three times now?”

“S-sorry, what’s up?” Jinyoung clears his throat and goes to cover both cushions up in their velvet coats. 

“You need to head up to the office, sign some papers.” Manpreet says with a lazy nod.

“Sign some papers? For what?”

“I don’t know, Paul says you gotta sign the contract or something.” He shrugs.

“Shouldn’t he be signing those?” Jinyoung huffs, already slipping off his gloves and making his way across the warehouse.

Manpreet shrugs again, “‘You’re in charge of this, you sign it.’” He says as Jinyoung walks past him briskly.

“Yeah, of course.” Jinyoung mumbles under his breath as he speed walks his way across the plane of the warehouse. He’s rushing through the door when he slams straight into someone's chest. He comes crumbling down onto the ground in a heaped mess, holding his nose in pain. “ _Shit._ ”

“Are you okay?” A voice, deep and alerted, comes from above Jinyoung. The hallway connecting the warehouse and museum is always dimly lit but right now it seems like someone's completely shut off all the lights.

“I’m good, I’m good- should have looked where I was going.” Jinyoung mumbles as he gives the tip of his nose a rub and pushes himself up to his feet, the stranger helping him by the elbow. “Sorry about that.” Jinyoung squints up, his hair which was once swept back neatly now fell down across his forehead.

“It’s no problem…” The man trails off, his voice oddly distant for how close he is to Jinyoung.

Jinyoung steps back to get a better look, his eyes adjusting now to the lack of light. The man before him is just an inch or two taller than him, possibly in his early 30’s with dark auburn hair and brown eyes that make Jinyoung’s throat close up. Jinyoung tries not to let the sudden sinking feeling show on his face, it wouldn’t be the first time he felt like this for no reason.

“I’m sorry, were you heading to the warehouse? It’s just pass this door.” Jinyoung says politely, stepping out of the way to make room for him.

“No… I was just looking for someone,” The man says with a clear of his throat. “I don’t know if you’ve seen a woman... Korean, short black hair?” 

“Ah, Mihyun?” Jinyoung says casually, to which the man in front of him flinches. Jinyoung pretends he doesn’t notice it. “She… came just a few minutes before you, she’s inside.”

“I see…” He trails off, not making any indication that he was going to make his way out of the hallway. “And who might you be?” 

“Oh, right, yes- I’m Park Jinyoung, I’m one of the tour guides here, I’m also in charge of items that come in to the museum.” Jinyoung explains quickly and politely. He has an incomprehensible need to run away. Jinyoung is used to discomfort, he’d once done three two-hour guides with a constant temperature of thirty-eight degrees celsius, all with a smile plastered across his face. So, he doesn’t really understand this itchy feeling like he wants to claw his skin off. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Park Jinyoung.” The man says roughly, leaning in closely to Jinyoung. “I’m Mark Tuan.” 

Jinyoung blinks, realisation dawning upon him. “You’re in charge of the exhibit, the crazy- I mean, the philosopher that started going on digs and expeditions, right? I’ve read a lot about your work.” Jinyoung eagerly says, completely pushing the unexplainable, crawling feeling down into the pits of his stomach.

This puts a small smile on Mark’s face. “Is that so?” 

Jinyoung blinks rapidly, feeling a little starstruck. The door to the warehouse opens then with a bang. Mihyun appearing in the opening wide eyes and hair flying, “Professor! Jin-” She clamps her mouth shut. “Professor, you’re here?”

“I’m here, Mihyun.” Mark says almost tiredly and brushes by Jinyoung. “It seems you’ve caused trouble… again.” He sighs and gives the short woman a flick to the forehead.

“Again?” Mihyun whines, rubbing her palm to her head where Jinyoung sees the small glimmer of something metal on her left hand.

“Ah… are you two married, by chance?” Jinyoung asks.

Mark gives him a thin, side look while a grin grows large on Mihyun’s face. She lifts her hand and wriggles her fingers, “Yes, but to someone else.” She says with a chuckle, like her words held a private joke. “This old man here is as single as a bird.”

“Unnecessary, Mihyun.” Mark sighs under his breath. He looks bothered and Jinyoung gets the feeling he’s long overstayed.

“Well, I’ll most likely see you two often. It’s nice to meet you. I’ll be heading off.” Jinyoung gives them each a nod and turns his back. He ignores the little sound Mihyun seems to make and keeps on making his way down the hallway fast.

“Wait, Jinyoung. Park Jinyoung.” Mark calls out, his name coming out of his mouth so comfortably. Jinyoung stiffens to a stop and looks over his shoulder. Mark has jogged just a little to catch up, nothing but a meter between them now. “Fate or feeling?”

Jinyoung’s eyebrows knit together, “Excuse me?”

Mark nudges with his chin at him and asks again, “Fate or feeling?”

“Uh sorry? The title of your exhibit?” Jinyoung mutters, trying to decipher the questioning look on Mark’s face. It’s the kind of look people had when they read a book. 

“I’m asking you a question.” Mark says. “Fate or feeling?” 

Jinyoung looks down to the ground and thinks about it. He could ask what he’s referring to, what’s the context but then he thinks about those two cushions, both depicting two different places and two people. The answer comes to him easily then, “Both.” 

There’s a millisecond just before a smile spreads across Mark’s face. It changes his whole expression, his whole demeanor, like a closed flower suddenly blooming. Colour and emotions like a thorned rose grows and twists in the depths of Jinyoung’s chest. It’s a feeling he can’t explain… a breathless, bittersweet feeling that pricks at his eyes. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Park Jinyoung. I think we’ll definitely be seeing each other often.” Mark says finally before turning his back. Jinyoung watches him slowly walk away, Mihyun waiting for him at the end of the corridor. 

His face twitches oddly and without realising Jinyoung feels a smile has grown on his face. There’s been many times in the last four years where Jinyoung has felt something close to deja vu, nostalgia, maybe even what feels like memories on the brink of opening, but there’s never been anything like this. 

_That feeling like you’ve been missing this all your life, and you’ve finally found it._


	27. authors note

I don’t usually write long author notes but I felt like this was needed. I’ll try not to make this long, but if any of you know me a little, you know that sometimes that isn’t my choice. (Also I’m going to get sentimental, goggles advised.)

I don’t really know where to start. This definitely isn’t going to be some explain this or that, fill in this hole or that hole. I think, for once, I haven’t left any loose ends. I think, maybe. I want to start with mentioning how important this piece is to me. It is for the most part the longest piece of writing I have ever completed. For once though it wasn’t a long tangent of emotional distress, but rather a big roundabout of messy plot points...and emotional distress. 

I think that’s my main issue. It’s my first piece of writing based around an actual plot. I tend to rely a lot on characters and character development, an emotional story. So, although this fic has just those, it also has a much bigger plot in the grand scheme of things. For my first time, I definitely don’t think I picked something easy to execute.

I’m glad I did it though. It took a year, a year where a lot of things happened in my personal life too. This fic was kind of my walking cane throughout it. It’s also a big learning step for me because it made realise the real difficulty of writing a plot heavy story. I bumped into a lot of problems, a lot stemming from the fact I really don’t plan any of this beforehand, and I really got to stop this. But also I learned that it’s hard to weigh good characters and a good plot together, it’s hard to focus on each correctly, and to satisfyingly come to a conclusion in both sections. Mark seems to always be a victim of my puppeteering. I don’t think I’ve ever written anything where I’m satisfied with his character, or at least the portrayal of his character. I think you could definitely get a little hint of that frustation in the last chapters. 

Graveyard Dreams is a first among many for me when it comes to writing. As I just said, and as a chaptered fic. I don’t know if it’s something I could do again without properly planning. Unlike my other long fics which I upload in one go, I had the chance to go back and change, and edit what is necessary. With a chaptered fic that get’s updated as it’s written, I found the bumps that I needed to solve as I wrote, and that editing wasn’t an option.

Anyway, onto the good points, and enough of the reflecting and excuses. I loved the fact I poured my heart into this, even though sometimes I felt like I was preaching or that I was just projecting, I really put my thoughts into this. _I know._ You might be thinking how can anyone think so complicated, but I think everyone’s like this in some way, at some point. Questioning the world? I’ve learn it’s a bit of an infinite question. 

Dreams, memories, _people_ , the lot have always been something I was interested in. I’ve written a dissertation about it based on the film Inception (I know, some of you clocked it. It is, in fact, my favourite film.) I read a lot of books for it, and I found out a lot of things; some theories, some facts, some definitely not facts. I ended up falling in love with philosophy in the process. 

So, I guess in the end this fic is a little bit of _me_ in some ways. Just as anything else I write, I put myself in it - like the old saying goes (I’m not directly quoting), you can’t really write about things you don’t know. Although I most certainly tried. 

Endings were never my forte. I think endings are one of the hardest things right after filling in the middle when it comes to writing for a lot of people. I don’t know how it comes off now if you’ve read this all in one go or if you’ve been reading it as I wrote, I think it’d be a different experience for every single one. All I can say in the end is that (for once) I didn’t rush it, I really thought about it, and I finally closed the book. Now I’m not going to act like this was concluded or done in the most clear-cut, concise way. I know some may still be really confused and I’m not the greatest writer or even close to just be like ‘figure it out on your own’ so I’ll drop some links to contact me below (or you can comment) if you want to ask questions or ask about certain characters etc.

Now to Sam, my beta, and greatest enemy. I’m writing this here to embarrass you in front of anyone and because we never have a coherent conversation where I can tell you all this gooey stuff. Thank you, truly, for everything. From way before we started talking on twitter, thank you for reading and liking my work in the first place. Thank you for talking to me and being my friend, even if you want to deny it or you keep insisting you’re leaving. You’ve helped me so much and there’s literally nothing I could do to return the favour, so I’ll just thank you for a lifetime (you heard me, lifetime).

It’s been a long journey. I guess in the end I want to say thank you for reading. Thank you for those who have been with me since the beginning, to those that waited out till it was finished, to those that just randomly found it and read it. Thank you for reading it. I know a lot people say writing should be for themselves because you can’t please everyone, which is true. However, I’d like to see writing as something for everyone, me included. This is my outlet, my home, my heart, and I’m giving it you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ways to contact me;   
> twitter: https://twitter.com/silkscrews | tumblr: moonchl.tumblr.com | curiouscat.me/aquilaprisca


	28. extra

So, it's officially been a year since I posted the first chapter of Graveyard Dreams. In my own personal commemoration I decided to upload an extra piece 'revealing' a few bullet points I didn't explicitly spell out in the piece. It's not that I forgot about them, or left major unexplainable plot holes, but more like I felt like they just didn't need explicit explanations? I felt like leaving a certain mysteriousness to it, which in hindsight might have not given anyone any affect but frustration but either way, I decided to post this piece. It's nothing major, nor that important, but people have been asking me about them and instead of repeating myself in confusing, messy ways, I'm posting this!

So here we go.

i) I guess everyone's first question is, who was Youngjae? Now, this is a big question because to me, I didn't know for certain who he was for a long time. If you read my authors note, you'd know that I'm the type to plan as I write so Youngjae was a big ? for a long time. His purpose and 'being' kept changing and shifting as the story progressed, so the confusion is completely understandable. At one point Youngjae was something...much bigger, my beta almost ripped my hair out for it - there were two ways I could have gone with him; one was the way I did go and the other...well. Let's say it was horribly confusing, very soap opera drama-esque, and frustrating for everyone. Even if I tried to explain it now it'd sound ridiculous so I'm leaving that one in the shadows.

So to the Youngjae I ended up writing, he really is no one but what he said he was. He was a man, a guard with 'no name', the type of character you'd pass by I suppose. Forgetting, however, that side characters to you, are main characters to themselves. Youngjae's first name isn't what is important, I think (to me anyway) what was important about Youngjae was that he was a character shifting easily between friend, antagonist, villain, and victim. He is the truest character in Graveyard Dreams. (I also loved writing Carl). He wasn't someone you could unearth, not someone you could understand easily, maybe because he never understood himself. In the end, despite the hollowness he seemed to live with, you could see he was just human, in pain and tired, and in need of relief. So when you ask me who Youngjae is, I can only say he is Youngjae, as Carl was Carl, as were the people before them, made up of each other but all different. 

ii) Insook. I don't think anyone took to notice but I did steal her name from 'Ameoto' - spoiler alert, but if you know you know. That aside in the GD I did drop a lot of little strings that tied her up to Mark and Jinyoung. One were the Oleander flowers, 'I mean who keeps poisonous flowers in their garden?' only someone who has a special attachment to them. She keeps them as a reminder of her husband who had survived the Hiroshima bombings as a young boy. 

Also if you remember the first time Jinyoung induces an earthquake it's after Insook brought in the strawberries. They were, in fact, a trigger. Her husband loved strawberries since he was a boy. This boy was friends/neighbours with Jinyoung's past life in Japan, where Jinyoung's mother would grow them in small plots in her garden. 

iii) I played with Mihyun's character a lot. At points I wanted to connect her to the whole plot, tie her into the curse but with Youngjae, I decided to keep her simple. Simple, not less detailed, but simple...like she was just who she was? I think the story needed someone like her. Someone who was sure, strong-willed and knew what she needed to do. She may not have completely understood what Jinyoung and Mark were going through but she knew what she wanted to, what she wanted to be for them. I'm glad people loved her as much as I did. 

Also to my beta's dismay, she ends up marrying Jaebum. For some context, Jaebum was the one that posted the video of Jinyoung trynna jump off the bridge. Everything was a swirl afterwards, and after Jinyoung dropped out of school and lost his memories, Jaebum tried to get back in touch. _Guilts a bitch._ Unfortunately he kept getting cockblocked by Mihyun, aaaand you can imagine what happened afterwards.

iv) Okay for the sake of those that didn't understand the deal Mark made; to bring it down simply, Mark gave himself up in exchange for the two demons residing in Jinyoung and Youngjae. Which means that they'd no longer remember their past lives, or carry on to remember their future lives, and in exchange, Mark will. From then on out, when he dies, he'll be alongside Barrick, Sadiya etc. residing in his reincarnation, who will remember them, and hence forth. Depending on how you see it, a curse was broken, or a new deal was made. 

v) Also, little...easter egg? In the first chapter of GD there is a point where Mark see's the books on Youngjae's shelf.  
"The Islamic Golden Era...Seamen’s Mission: The First Traveller...The Little Boy and The Fat Man…"  
After finishing this, you can pretty much tell how obvious these titles were. They all hinted at the important/main points in the story/history for all the reincarnations. The little boy and the fat man were actual names for the two bombs that hit Hiroshima and Nagasaki. 'Seamen's Mission' refers to the Finnish Seamen Mission established to help people travel, there's a whole wiki page. There's also a whole wiki page for the The Great Turku Fire. 

In the big messy scheme of things, there's a lot of hints, metaphors, and symbols in this story. In the end it's a story that comes down to each individual person, and how much destruction, and change one person can bring. My writing is constantly evolving, and in this this I feel like it does come off obnoxious, preachy, and over the top at times, but I hope in the end it makes some people think a little, or even opens up a new perspective of things. 

Anyway, before I start repeating myself from my authors note, I'll say bye bye for real now ~ if you any questions left, you know where to find me! 

Prescil.


End file.
